


Duty Bound

by Gia279



Series: These Ain't Your Momma's Paperbacks [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adopted Derek Hale, Adopted Isaac Lahey, Adopted Scott McCall, Adopted Vernon Boyd, Adoption, Alternate Universe, Child Abuse, Journalist Laura, Laura and Derek aren't Hales by birth, M/M, Siblings, Social Worker Stiles, Stiles finds out, Veterinarian Scott, Werewolves Are Not Known, adopted Laura Hale, air racer Derek, air racing - Freeform, all the ages were messed with, also took some liberties with the adoption/social working system so, character that is a social worker and ALL THAT ENTAILS, doctor Boyd, it may not be completely accurate read at your own risk, sheriff already knows, social work, teenager Isaac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-06-24 04:03:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 42
Words: 52,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19715848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279
Summary: Talia Hale wasn't Derek or Laura's birth mother. She'd found them in the preserve when Laura was twelve, and Derek eight. She'd adopted Vernon Boyd two years later, and Scott when Derek was fourteen. They were all sulky and angry and afraid when they arrived, but Talia loved them anyway. They were family. They were pack.Derek loved her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> 1) There will be short chapters again. It is the writing style the books these are based off of use, and it is the one I am using. I like ending chapters at the end of scenes in these, so that's how it's going again.  
> 2) This is completely finished so the posting schedule is gonna be fast. ::: The first three chapters will be spaced out. I'm posting ch.1 today, ch2 on Wednesday, and ch3 on Friday. On Sunday, I'll be posting chapter 4-6, and then after that, two chapters, three times a week (Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday).  
> 3) I hope you all enjoy but please heed the tags! Stiles is a social worker and therefore deals with children have been abused in some chapters. I don't go into EXPLICIT detail but there are injuries inflicted upon children by parents in some cases and that may be hard for some people to read. I hope you enjoy!

There was a certain thrill that came with nearly meeting death that couldn’t be achieved by anything else. A feeling that couldn’t truly be described when the adrenaline hit, the giddiness. When the only person who was in control of whether you lived or died was you. 

Air racing was dangerous, even for a werewolf. Ten racers blasting around at five hundred miles per hour through the air, vying for first and praying they didn’t hit each other or the finishing pylons.

That was part of the fun.

This was the fifth race of the season, and Derek was going to win. He saw Antonia Walton creeping up and did a roll in front of her, blasting between the pylons with seconds to spare. 

“Yes!” He couldn’t even hear his own voice, but he shouted anyway. This was his fifth win in racing events this season. He’d lost out in the trick flying categories early on, due to a gut-wrenching feeling of grief while he’d been in London. He had lost spectacularly, but racing was more his preference anyway. 

His crew leader, Steve Myer, crackled on his headset. “Landing strip is ready for you, Hale.”

“Thanks. Coming in.” 

After he landed and cleared the strip, his agent dealt with the prize money and paperwork involved with it while he was still getting his gear off.

She gave him a strange look as he approached her. “You have a visitor, Hale.”

“What? Who?” Usually she wanted him to talk to the press first. 

“She’s by the bollards.” Ms. Wade gestured at a tall, dark haired woman watching him. 

Derek frowned and went to her. “Hey. What’re you doing here?” Over the fumes and stench of the crowd, he caught the scent of grief. “Laura, what’s going on?”

She glowered at him. Her eyes were bloodshot. “Where have you been? Where’s your phone? We’ve been trying to reach you!”

“I lost it in Barcelona, I was going to get a new one-”

“Derek.” She took a breath and swallowed. “Mom’s dead,” she said tearfully.

Derek rocked back on his heels. “Wh-what? No. I just talked to her in—in—” Fuck, when had he spoken to her? “October!”

“You have to come home.”

“Obviously. Don’t leave. We’ll go to the airport together.” He ran to tell Ms. Wade he was dropping out. He brushed past several reporters thrusting microphones in his face and caught her. “I have to go.”

She nodded. “I’ve already told the coordinators that you’re dropping out of the next race. Antonia was second, so she’ll be going to Paris in your place.” 

He swore. “Thanks. I have to go.”

“I’ll take care of the prize money, get a message to you once it clears.”

“Thank you.” He ran back to Laura perhaps a touch too fast, but he didn’t care. “Let’s go.”

Talia Hale wasn’t Derek or Laura’s birth mother. She’d found them in the Beacon Hills’ preserve when Laura was twelve, and Derek eight, following some instinct she could never explain to them. She’d just said she’d felt needed. Their family, their pack, had been killed by hunters, but they’d escaped somehow, and they’d been running when Talia found them. She’d taken them home, fed and clothed them, and went through the process of legally adopting them. 

Two years later, she’d adopted Vernon Boyd. His parents had died in a car crash, and his foster parents were cruel. She’d adopted Scott when Derek was fourteen, the baby at ten-years-old. His father had killed his mother and nearly him, too. They were all sulky and afraid and angry when they arrived, but Talia loved them anyway. They were family.

Derek loved her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the first two chapters are pretty short. I just like how they read all split up. Friday, chapter 3, and then Sunday, chapters 4-6! <3

The day of the funeral was sunny and clear, but Derek couldn’t shake off the chill he’d been carrying with him since he’d gotten home. The four of them trudged home in an exhausted fog. Scott clung close to Laura. 

Derek remembered the traumatized boy he’d been when Talia had brought him home. He’d been ten to Derek’s fourteen, silent as a ghost and shivering anytime anyone raised their voice in the slightest. 

Laura had come home from school a week later, and Scott had bonded with her instantly. 

Derek and Vernon, fourteen and fifteen respectively, had left them to it. 

“I know today’s been awful,” Vernon—who always went by his family’s surname of Boyd, although he’d changed it to Boyd-Hale after the adoption—said, “but with Mom gone, we –we have another problem.” The small break in his voice was indicative of just how shaken he was. 

“Yeah,” Scott agreed quietly. “Like who’s the alpha now?”

Derek glanced at Laura, who shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t feel any different,” she said. 

“Me neither.” He looked at Boyd.

He shook his head. “Maybe it…it takes a while to…kick in?” He took a deep breath. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.” He nodded toward the house. 

Derek frowned. “What?”

They all looked at him. 

He crossed his arms. “ _What?_ ” he pressed. 

“Mom was—she’d just finished adopting another kid before this.” Boyd rubbed his eyes. “His social worker wants to come by. The paperwork just got settled.” 

“Where is he?” Derek asked. “Why didn’t he come to the funeral?”

“In the house,” Laura replied. “He freaked out when we asked if he wanted to come, so I asked Erica Reyes if she could sit with him for us. She knows him better than me, Scott, or you, since Mom uses her cleaning company. I think she also babysat her daughter for her on occasion.” She shrugged. 

Scott shuffled his feet. “I have to get back to San Francisco soon.” He looked down guiltily. He worked as an emergency vet in the city. 

“Yeah, I have to head back to LA.” Laura bit her thumbnail, her gaze darting around the chipped paint on the front door.

“ _Someone_ has to be here with the kid,” Boyd said. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be home enough to supervise him, I’m liable to get called into the hospital.” 

The three of them looked at Derek.

He threw his hands up. “Fine. Since I apparently don’t have anything to get back to.”

Scott looked guiltier. “I can’t take time off yet-”

“It’s fine, Scott,” he muttered. 

“Good. I’ll still be here to help out, obviously, but my schedule isn’t exactly stable.” Boyd sighed explosively. “Now we have to deal with the social worker.”

“What do they want?” Derek demanded. “I thought the paperwork was all done.”

“I guess he wants to check on the kid.” Boyd shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning against the porch railing. “You can’t blame him. The kid hasn’t had it easy, and now Mom is dead. He’s got to make sure the kid is doing okay.” He tapped his temple.

Scott moved his shoulders. “I guess we should go in now. I’ve only met him a couple times. This way Derek can meet him and we can all hang out a little before we have to leave.”

Laura patted Derek’s arm. “I can stay until the social worker leaves, if you want. I’ll just have to work from here.” 

“Maybe,” he muttered. “How old is the kid?”

Boyd smirked. “Twelve. He’s an ornery little shit. You two will get along fine.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunday I'll post 4-6, then back to normal 2 chapters, 3x a week. <3 I might start posting more, who knows. I'm impatient but I also like to space things out.

Stiles had coffee on his shirt, a rip in the sleeve of his jacket, and shadows under his eyes that made him look like a bad extra from Night of the Living Dead. He rubbed his eyes at a stop light, trying to dispel the burning. He’d been out until dawn with Mandy Connors. 

She’d run away from her foster home for the third time in less than a month.

Stiles had found her at the bus station. He’d had to talk her out of trying to go home to her mother. 

Ms. Connors was more interested in drugs than her fourteen-year-old. 

The worst part, Stiles thought, was that Mandy knew that, but she still loved her mother so much that she wanted to go take care of her anyway. He grimaced, running over the long talk they’d had on the bench outside the station. 

She’d admitted, tearfully, that she didn’t know if her mother would remember to eat or drink or get up if no one was there to remind her. 

Stiles hated that she felt responsible for her own mother, that she was so determined to put her mother’s welfare before her own.

He sighed and made himself tuck it away for later. For now, he had to focus on the Hales and, most importantly, Isaac Lahey.

His hands flexed on the wheel, jaw tightening. 

Isaac’s father was a piece of-

He inhaled sharply, reminding himself that he had to be calm when he spoke to Isaac, who was particularly sensitive to tense and angry adult males. No one could blame him.

Stiles had waited a week after Talia’s funeral to come visit, but he couldn’t wait much longer.

Isaac needed stability and support right now, and Stiles just wasn’t sure the Hales were going to be able to provide that, reeling as they were from her unexpected death. 

The Hale house was just inside the Beacon Hills preserve, large and sturdy with lots of clear space around it. A sleek black Camaro was parked in the ragged gravel driveway. 

Stiles parked behind it and grabbed his file. 

Lydia had spoken to Talia’s children a few days after she’d passed. Currently, Laura Hale, Derek Hale, and Vernon Boyd-Hale were the ones in town. 

Vernon, Stiles knew, worked at the hospital. They’d bumped into each other whenever Vernon had to treat one of Stiles’s kids. Laura worked as a journalist in LA, and Derek…

Stiles frowned at the notes. Apparently Lydia hadn’t been able to find a profession for the middle Hale child. 

He’d known all of them in passing—hard not to in a town the size of Beacon Hills—but he hadn’t been close to any of them. They were a pretty tight-knit family, considering they were all adopted. The social worker in Stiles couldn’t help but feel fondly toward them because of that. 

He shook his head and got out of the car. He smiled at the little flower and herb garden on either side of the steps leading up to the porch. He climbed the stairs and rapped on the door. 

After a second, the door opened, letting out a billow of gray smoke. A man waved a dishtowel until it cleared out, then shot Stiles a sharp, confused look. “Can I help you?” he snapped. 

Stiles lifted a brow. “I hope so. I’m Stiles Stilinski, I’m Isaac’s social worker. I came to discuss him and check on him.” 

The man blinked, then straightened up, rolling his shoulders back. A wide, attractive smile spread over his face. “Oh, hi. I wasn’t expecting you today. I’m Derek Hale.”

Stiles took a moment to acknowledge how attractive Derek Hale was, as it was hard to miss. In the next, he’d shaken off his initial desire as he recognized the insincerity in that smile. He was too tired for this. “Uh-huh. Could I come in, Mr. Hale?”

“Sure. I was just, ah, making lunch.” He grimaced and ducked his head, like he was embarrassed. “I’ll probably just order pizza.”

“Sounds nutritious. Where’s Isaac?” he asked, stepping past him into the house. He’d been here before, doing home visits and making sure Isaac was settling in with Talia. It hadn’t changed since the last time he’d been here, except there were more shoes beside the door and some suitcases by the couch. 

“He’s up in his room.” Derek shut the door and put the dishtowel over his shoulder. “Why don’t you go wait in the dining room while I g-”

“I think I’d prefer to go up and talk to him,” Stiles cut in. He smiled coolly. “The last few times I spoke to Isaac, he seemed more comfortable in his own space.”

Derek flashed that bright smile again. “Sure.” 

“I’ll be right down to speak to you after I’m done with Isaac.” He left the living room, sparing a glance at the kitchen and dining room as he crossed through. Both were still mostly clean, but he assumed that was because no one was cooking. 

The stairs were to the left of the living room, set to one side. There was a hall next to it that would lead to a master bedroom and two bedrooms, which Stiles guessed were probably the Hale children’s when they were kids. 

Stiles went up and paused at the top of the steps. He glanced over his shoulder. He’d known of the Hales, and he knew Talia even before Isaac because his father was close to her. He did _not_ remember Derek Hale being so attractive. Or so _fake._

He rolled his shoulders. 

Derek was a problem for later. 

He took a breath and knocked on the bedroom door to the left of the stairs. 

The door opened slowly. Isaac peered out at him. His face was pinched, but he already looked better rested and less bony than when he’d arrived. 

“Hey, Isaac.” Stiles smiled at him. 

He blinked. “Hi.” He shuffled back from the door.

“Is it okay with you if I come in?” Stiles always made sure to ask; he had a feeling Isaac had had too few people minding his boundaries before. 

He shrugged and walked over to the bed, which was made up with blue sheets and a white blanket. 

The room had fresh paint on the walls, a gentle, soothing blue, but other than that there weren’t any decorations or knickknacks; the desk under the window was bare. Stiles figured junk and personalization would come in time. 

“Are you here to take me away?”

Stiles lifted his brows. “Why do you ask?”

Isaac scuffed the toe of his ratty sneaker across the carpet; the bottom peeled back slightly before slapping back into place. “Well, Talia died. She’s the one who adopted me.” 

“Do you want to leave?”

Isaac shrugged. “I dunno. Dr. Boyd is kinda cool, and Laura’s fun, I guess.”

Stiles carefully sat at the desk. “You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. But if you do want to stay, we can talk about making sure that happens, okay?”

He nodded at the floor. “Okay.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, you know I did a ton of research on air racing and I know so many things. The first and most important is that air racing in reality is not nearly as exciting as you'd think to be honest, so while it's not even that big of a deal in the story--just Derek's job--it is completely different from the reality of it.

Derek was not a cook. He’d been trying to make macaroni and cheese for the kid, but he’d gotten distracted by a call from Douglas Freeling. He was another competitor in the races and he’d wanted to know why Derek had dropped out before the Paris race. 

So he’d burned lunch, no big deal. He’d order pizza and talk to the cute social worker, see how that was going, while he waited. 

He was sure Stilinski would just tell him some crap about feeding the kid some vegetables and then he’d leave and they’d be fine.

He smirked to himself, thinking about the way Stilinski had paused and thought for a while at the top of the steps. He’d smelled like exhaustion and sadness when Derek had first opened the door, but that’d changed to something harder to identify, determination mixed with something sharper, as they spoke.

Laura had to run out for something, which was obviously when the social worker would show up, but Derek thought he was doing okay.

He scraped the burned noodles into the trash and sighed. He was going to have to get groceries soon.

And maybe a cookbook. 

Stilinski came down about fifteen minutes after he hung up with the pizza place.

“Hey.” Derek grinned at him. He figured a little flirting couldn’t hurt their cause. “So how’s the kid?”

Stilinski’s brows went up. “He’s confused and unsure of his place right now. He wasn’t sure if anyone here _wanted_ him to stay. He’s upset by Talia’s death—he’d begun to trust her, and she’d made him feel safe, but he doesn’t know you or any of your siblings that well.” 

“Sure, but it’s only been a week. He’s got time.” Derek leaned a hip against the counter, rolling his shoulders. “Are you related to Sheriff Stilinski?” He quirked one corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “That’s my father. Isaac needs to be in school starting the new semester.”

“Done.” Derek tilted his head; he could hear the crunch of tires on gravel as the pizza guy pulled up. He smiled. Maybe he could get Stilinski to stay a while, loosen that tie a bit. Get him to smile and see if it looked as good as he thought it might. “Why don’t you sta-”

“Mr. Hale, I’m going to be honest with you. I’m not sure if this is the best place for Isaac.”

Derek straightened up. “What?”

“I’m not sure Isaac should stay here,” Stilinski said evenly. “He may be better off somewhere with more…structure.” His gaze flicked toward the trash can.

Derek clenched his jaw to keep from shouting. “The kid belongs _here,_ ” he growled. “He’s our brother, so he stays.” 

Stilinski’s eyes narrowed. “He stays _for now_ because he wants to stay. I’m going to monitor the situation, and make sure that he’s safe, comfortable, and cared for before I make a permanent decision.” He sounded perfectly even, though anger was stirring in his scent. 

Derek glowered. “ _Of course_ the kid is comfortable and safe. We aren’t neglecting him.”

“His name is Isaac,” Stilinski snapped. “Try using it occasionally.” 

Derek bared his teeth. “I know what his name is and I know that he belongs _here._ ” 

“Get him some new shoes, for gods’ sake, there are _holes_ in his.” Stilinski took a breath. “I will be in touch.” He stalked away. 

Derek swore as the front door slammed. He put his hands behind his head and paced the kitchen. Damn it. He’d just lost his mother, tanked his racing season, possibly his whole racing career, and found out he had a new sibling. He didn't need some snotty social worker threatening him. 

He looked at the stairs, listening to Isaac’s elevated heartrate. “Hey,” he called. “We’re having pizza for lunch!” After a second, he added, “And apples!” He would get some damn vegetables later.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, there will be 3 chapters posted today. <3

Stiles stormed into the sheriff’s department so furiously, several deputies leaped out of the way. He didn’t care. He went straight to the office set away from the rest and barged in.

Sheriff Stilinski looked sadly at his lunch. “I’m guessing you’ve had an eventful day.”

“You couldn’t even _begin_ to guess. But this,” he flapped a hand at his coffee-stained, rumpled appearance, “isn’t the worst. Derek Hale,” he snarled. 

John got up with a long sigh and went to the door, closing it. 

“He’s a massive _dick,_ ” Stiles continued, pacing the length of the office. “He’s irresponsible and immature. He clearly doesn’t care about the child under his guardianship which, by the way, is subpar at best.”

“So the meeting didn’t go well?” John sat behind his desk with the air of a man settling in for a long, boring lecture.

Stiles shot him a quick glare. “No, it did not.” He paced from the door to the desk. “He wasn’t interested in talking about Isaac’s well-being, he _flirted_ with me, and he called Isaac “the kid” the whole time!”

John huffed. “I call you kid.” 

“No.” Stiles waved his hands. “He said, and I quote, “The kid belongs here”,” he growled in what he thought was a passable imitation of Derek Hale’s voice. 

John winced. “Yeah, that’s…” He blew out a breath. “That’s not great. So you’re going to remove him?”

Stiles sighed and sat down. “I’m not sure.”

“How’s Isaac doing?”

He looked up, abruptly remembering that John was the one who’d arrested Roger Lahey _and_ who’d taken Isaac to Talia. He forced his fury at Derek away and focused. “He’s still adjusting. He…” He sighed. “He’s afraid he’s going to have to leave, which is why I’m not sure removing him is the best idea. I get the sense that he wants to belong, but that he expects the Hales to want to be rid of him.”

“And you’re worried that removing him will reinforce that idea.”

He nodded. “But if Derek Hale’s the one spending the most time with him, it may not work.”

John nodded slowly. “Do you want my opinion, or just someone to listen?”

Stiles crossed his arms. “Ugh. Your opinion.”

He smiled slightly. “You won’t like it.” 

“Go figure,” he muttered. 

“My opinion is that every one of the Hale kids knows exactly what it’s like to want to belong, so Isaac is in good company. I know Derek’s, hmm, maybe not the _first_ choice for a guardian, but it’s only his first week on the job. If he wants to try, and Isaac wants to stay, why don’t you give them a chance to figure it out? The other three will be there to help. That’s a pretty good support system for a kid.”

Stiles glared at the desk, tapping his fingers against his own arms. “Yeah, fine. I already decided I’d be monitoring it and leaving him there. I can give them some time.” He thought of the defeated slump of Isaac’s shoulders when he’d asked if Stiles was there to take him away. He sighed. “Derek Hale did do one thing right, I guess.”

“Oh?” John’s brows lifted. “That many?”

“Ha-ha. He immediately claimed him when I mentioned Isaac going somewhere else. No hesitation. Now if he’d share that sentiment with _Isaac_ , we’d be having a different conversation.”

“Give it time.” John lifted his coffee mug before taking a drink.

“Yeah, yeah, I said I would. I have to turn in my report to Lydia soon, but I’ll be back later to discuss that burger I saw you hide.” He stood and opened the door.

“I’m not hiding anything!”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Then why is your lunch in your file cabinet?” He left while John was cursing.


	6. Chapter 6

“He’s a stuck-up jerk who thinks he knows best,” Derek snarled. He was still unloading bags from his car. He’d gone grocery shopping when Laura had returned from her errand. Overwhelmed by the choices, he’d grabbed boxes and bags at random in self-defense. 

Boyd, who’d begged off work at a rare four pm, was less than impressed with Derek’s choices. He lifted a box of donuts and another of brownies. “What the hell is this?”

“Snacks.”

He lifted a frozen pizza.

“Dinner.” 

“What the fuck, Derek? Isaac still has growing to do, you ass. Did you get anything that grows from the _ground?_ ” 

Derek, infuriated, snatched a potato out of the bag on the counter and threw it at him.

Boyd caught it and arched his arm to throw it back.

“Stop it!” Laura ordered, and they all froze. “Oh, balls.” She flexed her hands. “Really?” She looked at Derek and flashed her eyes. “ _Really?_ ”

“Yeah, they’re red.” He shrugged, listening with half an ear for Isaac. 

He was pretty thoroughly distracted in his room so far, but Derek didn’t want to risk him coming down unexpectedly. It was a little too early for the werewolf discussion. 

“Why are you surprised?” Boyd asked. He set the potato aside and started unloading groceries. “You’re the oldest and Mom always talked like you’d be alpha after her.”

Laura shook her head. “Yeah, but I always thought…” She sighed sadly. “I didn’t expect it like this. I didn’t even feel it.” 

“You don’t exactly spend a lot of time getting in touch with your instincts.” Derek glanced at the stairs. “None of us do, except on the moon.”

“Excuse you,” Boyd said mildly. “We don’t _all_ live in the city.”

Laura groaned. “I have to move back! This means I’m stuck here, doesn’t it?”

Derek paused, mouth dropping open. 

Boyd turned to stare at her. 

She flushed, shame seeping into her scent. “That came out wrong,” she said weakly.

“Don’t put yourself out on our account,” Derek snapped.

“Derek, don’t,” Laura pleaded. 

“Just go back to LA, Laura. We’ll handle it.”

Boyd held up a hand. “Let’s hear how badly Derek screwed up with the social worker before we say what we can handle. Also, I think it goes without saying that I’ll be handling the grocery shopping from now on.” He shook his head at the stack of TV dinners he’d pulled from the bags. 

Derek flushed. “I didn’t _screw up_ with the social worker. He said the kid—I mean Isaac,” he scowled, “needs shoes.”

“He needs clothes, too,” Laura put in. “Mom was talking about taking him shopping for winter stuff, but…” They all fell silent.

But she hadn’t gotten the chance.

“So he needs shoes and clothes,” Laura finished. “Which means the mall. Not it!” she added quickly.

Boyd shook his head. “Nope, I’m already going to have to redo the pantry with food that won’t stunt his growth. This is all you.”

“Not fair,” Derek complained. “I already went shopping.”

“Tough. What else did the social worker say? New shoes doesn’t sound so bad.”

Derek growled, getting pissed all over again. “He said that he thinks this ‘might not be the best place for Isaac’,” he said in a falsetto. He set his jaw. “He’s wrong. Mom adopted him, he’s Mom’s kid. That makes him our brother, so he stays.”

“Agreed.” Laura nodded firmly.

They both glanced at Boyd when he was quiet a beat too long. 

His heartrate ticked up. He sighed. “I’m not sure that’s the best thing for him,” he said quietly. 

“What?” Derek felt claws prick his palm.

Laura just rumbled, low and angry. 

Boyd held his hands up. “I’m not saying you’re wrong—he was Mom’s, that makes him ours—but…what do we have to offer the kid? An alpha who doesn’t want to be here? Derek, who _also_ doesn’t want to be here? Me? I’m barely home.” 

Derek’s shoulders slumped.

Laura bit on her thumb nail, reeking of guilt. 

“I don’t want to give him up either, but if he’d be happier and healthier somewhere else…”

Derek clenched his fists. “How can you of all people think foster care is the best option for him?”

Boyd’s jaw clenched at the reminder, and Derek instantly felt awful. “I know, now that I’m an adult, that my experience in foster care was an anomaly.” His voice was perfectly even.

Derek could smell the nerves and panic from the memories coming off of him. _Pack first._ “I’ll sell my plane.”

Laura’s head snapped up.

Boyd simply looked blank. “What?” 

“I can sell my plane. I’ll be here with him all day until school starts up.” He gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes. “I’ll read up on cooking and shit. Next time Stilinski drops by, I’ll be a model, ugh, guardian.”

Laura nodded. “I’ll need a little more time, but I can make arrangements to work primarily from home. I’ll have to travel every now and then, but my pack is here, so I should be, too.”

“We’re not giving him up,” Derek added fiercely. “He’s pack.”

Boyd let out a relieved sigh. “Good. So that’s our plan—make sure he doesn’t get taken.” He pointed at Derek. “But no cooking. We’ll work something else out.”

Derek threw a box of Cheez-Its at his head.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Child abuse discussed in this chapter

Stiles hated this part. He was good at his job, he helped people with his job, but having to tell someone that the person they’d married, that they’d fallen in love with, was hurting their child—it never got easier. “Mr. Wheeler, I don’t want to take your daughter away from you, okay? There are options. But as of right now, Marie has extensive bruising, a broken arm, and she’s terrified to go home.” 

Robert Wheeler rubbed his eyes. He’d broken at the sight of his seven-year-old daughter, battered and huddled on a too-big hospital bed. “It’s Cara. She’s—I keep her away from Marie as much as I can, and she never touches her in front of me, but…” He wiped his watering eyes. “She makes me feel like I’m—I’m crazy, sometimes. She says I’m, uh, making things up, and that I’m abusing her by keeping Marie away from her.” He looked away. “I know most people side with mothers, but Marie can’t—I can’t leave her with-”

Stiles waited, let him collect himself, and pulled a business card from the tiny stack on his desk. “You and Marie need to get out of the house. Do you have somewhere the two of you can stay?”

Robert nodded. “My sister lives just outside of town.”

“Okay. If you feel comfortable with it, you should go home and get some clothes for yourself and Marie, and go to your sister’s place. You need to make some changes if you want to keep custody of your daughter. Right now,” Stiles sighed, “she wants you. But if you don’t take steps to protect her from your wife, Mr. Wheeler, I’m going to have to step in. Marie’s safety is my top priority.” 

He nodded, shrinking in on himself as Stiles watched.

Stiles held the business card out. “Pete Lopez is a child custody lawyer who has worked with victims of abuse before. He’s very understanding.”

Robert took the card. “You think he’ll be good for Marie?”

“Well, yes.” Stiles hesitated. “And you, I think.”

His head snapped up.

“You may also want to file for divorce.” Stiles tapped the card. “He can help you with that as well.” 

“What if she gets custody?” he asked hoarsely. 

Stiles had seen it happen. He’d only been a full social worker for a short while, but he’d _seen_ people who didn’t deserve their kids get custody of them just because of shared DNA, and he couldn’t make any definite promises, but— “We’re going to do everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen. We’re going to document Marie’s injuries and take her statement. I will be there in the courtroom. The judge will listen to my observations and suggestions. We’re going to protect Marie, okay?”

By the time Robert left, Stiles had a throbbing headache. He’d tried talking him into getting a police escort to his house to get clothes, but he’d refused; he’d looked embarrassed by the idea, which was…concerning. 

Stiles had only met Cara Wheeler once, but it was enough to make an impression. 

She’d been chipper and helpful and absolutely fake; everything from the words she’d spoken to the confused look she’d given Marie when she refused to sit next to her had been manufactured for Stiles’s benefit.

The worst part of the system was that gut feelings didn’t mean anything. The only thing to do was keep investigating until –until their other parent made a decision or something like this happened. 

His phone rang. He took a deep breath and answered. “Social Services, Stilinski speaking.”

“ _Come into my office. I’ve got aspirin and it’s urgent._ ” Lydia hung up.

He rubbed his face, then got up and headed for her office. He sighed when he saw the bottle of aspirin on her desk next to a bottle of water. “You are a goddess among mortals.”

“I know. Close the door.” She looked tense, her mouth set in a grim line.

Stiles knew her “bad news” expression too well to be anything but wary. He shut her office door and sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk before she could tell him to. “What’s going on?” 

“I just got off the phone with the sheriff’s department. Your dad is fine,” she added swiftly. “It has to do with the Hales.”

Stiles tensed. “What happened? I knew-”

“The police believe Talia Hale was murdered.” She shot him a sharp look. 

He stood. “I’m removing Isaac from their custody.”

“Sit down,” Lydia ordered. “The police are investigating, nothing is certain, and it may have just been Talia. Isaac doesn’t need more upheaval in his life,” she pointed out when he shook his head. “Taking him out of the home he’s finally settling into is just going to make things worse.”

“Make things _worse?!_ If someone is targeting the Hales, Isaac is in _danger._ ” 

“I don’t think he is. If Talia was murdered, there’s still the possibility that she was the target herself. She wasn’t shy about her opinions. She easily could have had an enemy or two.” 

“Lydia-”

“If you’re worried, you have my complete approval to do frequent well-checks and meetings, keep me updated. But I really think that Isaac is safest where he is.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you think that?”

“I’ve known the Hales a long time. They’ll give Isaac what he needs.”

“Safety?”

“A home,” she shot back. “Now go. You’ve got a meeting in twenty.”

He glared at her for another minute before leaving.


	8. Chapter 8

Derek was never going to the mall again. It was torture. A little less than a week before Christmas and it was crawling with people shouting at each other, clerks, and their children. They moved slow as molasses and fought for aisle space like kids fighting for the best swing on the playground. 

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Now he had to get all the clothes, school supplies, and whatever the hell else they’d bought into the house, make lunch, and find a way to entertain the kid until dinner. He glanced over at Isaac speculatively. 

He was picking at a hole in his jeans, a frown on his face. 

“Want to go to a movie?”

Isaac lifted his head. “Why?”

Derek shrugged. “Because there’s nothing to do in the house, and afterward we can get lunch.” And maybe he’d catch a nap while Isaac was watching the movie. He hadn’t known how exhausting shopping could be with a twelve-year-old. Just getting him to try things on was a fight. _Never again,_ he vowed. 

“Okay,” Isaac muttered. “Whatever you want.”

“Uh-huh,” Derek said. He thought if he could have whatever he wanted, Talia would be alive and he would be in Paris preparing for another race. He squeezed his hands around the wheel until the wave of grief passed. He didn’t have time to think of that. “Go put your stuff away, and switch to your new shoes, then we’ll go.” 

“Why do I have to put it all away?”

“Because it’s your stuff.”

“Why do I have to put it away _now?_ ” 

Derek turned all the way around to face him.

Isaac went absolutely still in a way that reminded him of a rabbit. 

“Because if you don’t do it _now_ , you’ll have to do it _later._ ” He waited, grateful when Isaac relaxed. 

“Yeah, fine,” he muttered. He threw open the car door. 

Derek winced and popped the trunk. He supposed the Camaro wasn’t exactly kid-friendly. He got out and started helping unload the car.

He’d only just gotten the front door unlocked, juggling three unwieldly bags, when his phone rang. “Throw your old ones out!” he called as he answered. “Yeah?”

Laura snorted. “ _Listen to you, being the responsible big brother._ ” 

“Shut-up. You’re evil. You abandoned me. I had to go to the mall in _December._ ” 

She laughed. “ _Oooh, too bad I missed all the fun._ ” She sighed. “ _I’ll be home soon, once we work out the logistics of my relocation._ ”

“Good.”

“ _So what’d you buy?_ ” 

“Just about every damn thing,” he muttered. “Glad I won that last race. Kid ain’t cheap.” 

“ _No, but there are such things as sales and coupons, dork._ ”

“Yeah, yeah. That delays the leaving.”

“ _Rich snob._ ” 

“Not for long at this rate.”

She laughed. 

He smiled. “Come home soon. We’re going to the movies.” 

“ _So you can take a nap while he’s distracted, old man?_ ”

“You’re older.”

“ _And better. I gotta go. Love you._ ” 

“Love you, too.”

Isaac passed with another load of bags, making faces. 

Derek winced. They may have gone overboard at the mall. But it’d seemed like for everything they knew he needed, there were four things they hadn’t known he’d been missing. 

He shrugged. At least they wouldn’t have to buy it later. He heard a car pulling closer and frowned; it didn’t sound like Boyd’s car, or any of the neighbors—not that they lived close enough to be properly neighbors. 

The car was still a little ways off, so Derek checked that Isaac was distracted, then closed the front door and stood on the porch, arms crossed. He thought it might be the social worker, but the car didn’t sound right—a little bigger, and newer, than the vehicle he’d arrived in before. 

When the sheriff’s cruiser came into sight, Derek tensed. Would they send the sheriff to take Isaac away? Wasn’t there a process to it, paperwork? And shouldn’t it be Stiles? He fought back his shift, keeping his jaw shut against the urge to bare his fangs. 

He took a slow, bracing breath. He’d have to be friendly. He knew Sheriff Stilinski; he’d been a deputy when Talia had found Derek and Laura, and he’d been the one to bring Scott to them. 

Derek made himself wave when Sheriff Stilinski got out of the car. 

He waved back, but his face was neutral. His scent wafted over, cautious and wary and shot through with grief. 

The last time Derek had seen him had been at Talia’s funeral. “Can I help you, Sheriff?” he called, aiming for friendly. He sounded tense. 

Sheriff Stilinski sighed wearily. “Are the rest of your siblings around?”

“Just Isaac.”

His mouth tightened. “He’s in the house?”

Derek nodded, holding himself rigid so he wouldn’t try to block the odor.

“Maybe we should talk out here then.”

“Okay. What’s this about?”

“Your mother.”

Derek felt his muscles go weak. “What about her?”

“Christ, this never gets any easier. We think she was murdered,” he said firmly. “We got some blood test results-”

Derek choked. “You did blood—we _never_ consented—she didn’t want-” Jesus, they must have realized her blood wasn’t entirely _human_. 

Sheriff Stilinski waved this away. “The tests were run by the right people, don’t worry. The problem was the toxic mix of aconite in her blood.” 

_The right people?_ Derek thought, speechless. 

Sheriff Stilinski continued, oblivious, “Now, she didn’t show the typical signs of aconite poisoning, so we have to assume that it was a mixture of breeds designed to hide any evidence.” He shot Derek a grim look. “Anyone you know who might’ve wanted to hurt your mother?”

Fire flared, bright and hot, in his mind; the stench of burning flesh gagged him. He swallowed and blinked, refocusing on the present. “Maybe?” he croaked. He cleared his throat. “Is McCall still in prison?”

Sheriff Stilinski nodded, looking troubled. “I’ll make some calls. You talk to the other three, see if you can come up with a list of possible enemies for us to work with.” 

Across the house, a door slammed. Sneakers raced across the backyard. 

_Fuck._ “Yeah. Uh, I’ll—I’ll talk to them. I have to…” He bolted down the steps and around the side of the house. 

Isaac’s blue hoodie was just visible as he ran into the depths of the preserve. 

Derek let himself run as fast as he could once he was sure he was out of Sheriff Stilinski’s line of sight. 

Isaac yelped and covered his head when Derek caught up to him.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he demanded, circling around so he was in front of him. 

Isaac tried to dodge past him. 

Derek blocked. “What’re you doing?” 

“I’m _leaving_ ,” he snapped. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and glared at Derek with as much fury as he could muster. “I heard you talking to the sheriff. Talia’s d-dead because of me, so I’m leaving. You guys don’t want me around anyway.” He tried to bolt again.

Derek caught the back of his jacket. “First of all, we do want you around, so you’re stuck with us. And second, Mom’s death had nothing to do with you.”

He stopped struggling. He didn’t look at Derek when he asked, “But what if my dad did it?”

Derek bared his teeth, then hissed out a breath when Isaac flinched. He sighed. “If your dad did it, that makes it your dad’s fault. Not yours.”

“But he only—only knew about Talia because she helped me.” Isaac turned to face him finally. He blinked furiously, fighting tears. “So if he hurt her, it’s because she helped me.” His shoulders were tense, arms held rigidly at his sides. 

Derek hesitated. There was so much to address there that he didn’t know where to start. “It’s not your fault,” he said finally. “And your dad is in jail. So he can’t have done it, right?”

Isaac’s shoulders relaxed. “Right.”

Derek nodded. “Okay. You gonna stick around a while?”

He smirked slightly. “Yeah. I guess someone’s gotta make sure you don’t poison everybody when you cook.” 

“Brat.” He laughed. “Okay, go finish putting your junk away. We’ve got a movie to catch.” He turned to watch Isaac run back to the house. He rubbed his face and took out his phone. He sent a group text to his siblings. 

_Mom was poisoned; Sheriff stopped by. Wolfsbane._

If someone was targeting them, they should be together to face it.

Derek thought of the soot-covered faces of the hunters who’d killed his and Laura’s birth pack, the sound of them hooting and hollering with joy as the wolves burned. As they’d chased them. 

It wouldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t let it.


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles hated hospitals. He respected the people who worked in them, but nothing good had happened for him inside a hospital since he’d been born in one. He associated them with helplessness and loss.

But he still had to go, especially if one of his kids was in there. He’d gotten a call from Dr. Boyd an hour ago about one of his kids—Darcy Escue, ten-years-old. 

She was being treated for multiple lacerations. 

Stiles fortified himself and went inside. “Hey, Miss Tucker. Dr. Boyd called me?”

“Right. I’ll buzz you back. He’s in room 26B, with the Escue brood.” She looked troubled. 

Stiles swallowed and went through the double doors as she buzzed him through. The ground floor of the hospital was set up as if someone with no business designing a building had been given a box of crayons, a piece of paper, and free reign, but he eventually found room 26B. 

Dr. Boyd was talking to a nurse outside the room. “Sorry, excuse me.”

“Sure.”

He stepped way and gestured at Stiles to follow him. They stopped at the nurse’s station. “Hey, I didn’t mean to alarm you, but you asked us to give you a call if any of the Escue children ended up in here again.”

“Right.” Stiles squeezed his hands together. “Is she alright?”

“Yes. I understand most of the issue has been truancy?”

He nodded. 

“Darcy’s probably going to have to miss a few days due to the stitches and swelling.”

Stiles swore under his breath. “They go on break in a week. It should be fine. Dr-”

“You can just call me Boyd.”

He nodded. “Was there any evidence this was done by her parents? Her uncle? Any evidence to suggest this wasn’t an accident?”

Boyd shook his head. “He’s distraught. Darcy and her brothers were playing by the sliding glass door. Kenny threw a basketball just a little too hard and it shattered. I obviously can’t know for sure, but I’d say this was an accident. Just like Kenny’s broken ankle two months ago. We asked Darcy some questions, and her uncle.” His mouth twitched. “If it reassures you any, I’ve also had to patch up their uncle and mother a few times, too. It’s my professional opinion that the whole family is just accident prone.” 

Stiles let out a breath. “Thanks, Boyd. That does help.” He was glad; he liked the family. Their only problems were generally time and reliable transportation to school. He was working on it. 

The school bus didn’t get close enough to their house for them to safely go to the nearest stop, but he bet if he pulled some strings, he could get the county to add a stop closer to their house. 

“Thank you,” he said again, distracted. “I should talk to Mr. Escue before I go-”

Boyd muttered something under his breath. 

“I’m sorry? What?”

He shook his head. “You’ll have to forgive me. My brother just showed up.”

“Thanks a lot,” a voice said from behind Stiles. “I’ll remember that next time I decide to bring you lunch.”

Stiles turned.

Derek Hale frowned at him slightly before waving a bag at Boyd. “I have food.”

“Yes, I see that.” 

Derek glanced at Stiles and grinned. “You could join us for lunch, Mr. Stilinski. After Boyd goes back to work, we could get some dessert.”

Stiles _hated_ that he felt his face flush. “I—where’s Isaac?” he demanded. 

Derek’s expression turned icy. “With our sister. I’m not _that_ irresponsible.”

Stiles took half a step forward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.” He cleared his throat. “I have to go, I’m working. Enjoy your lunch,” he muttered. He fled to speak to Mr. Escue, embarrassed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> panic/anxiety attack (??) in this chapter

Derek sort of hated the social worker. He also kinda wanted to bite his mouth, but that would have to wait. They’d met a couple more times about Isaac, but somehow he’d made it when Boyd or Laura were there to act as buffers. 

Derek was glad Laura was home for good. Everything felt more settled with her there, calm and in place. 

She was trying to figure out a new, closer job without resorting to the Beacon Gazette, which was less a newspaper and more a gossip rag delivered to everyone’s doorstep. The search wasn’t going well for her. 

“But why can’t we have pizza?” Isaac asked as the three of them pulled up to the house. 

“Because we had pizza yesterday and Wednesday,” Laura replied. “Boyd makes the food laws, and he said pizza twice a week is the limit.” 

“When Derek was home with me, we had pizza every day.” 

“Thanks a lot, kid,” he muttered when Laura glared at him. “We’ll have to suffer through chicken for the time being.” He got out of the car and grabbed the bucket of popcorn from the middle console. 

They’d gone to see a movie, which was quickly becoming a bi-weekly tradition. Isaac had chosen this week, some cartoon based on a show based on a comic that Derek hadn’t been able to follow. 

“But what if we got a little bit of pizza to eat with the chicken?” Isaac wheedled. 

Laura laughed and jangled her keys as she climbed out of the car. “No pizza. Maybe we’ll go to that Thai place tomorrow if you eat the chicken tonight.” 

Isaac clambered out and dug into the popcorn Derek was holding, munching thoughtfully. “Okay.”

Derek rolled his eyes and handed him the bucket. “Last one to the kitchen has to cook?” he muttered. 

Laura nodded seriously and bolted for the door. 

Derek scrambled after her. He jostled her when they reached the door, fighting to get his key in first. His hand slipped.

Laura crowed and jammed her key in the lock, twisting.

He grasped the handle and flung it open, pushing ahead. He only made it about two feet into the house before a scent caught his attention. He froze. “Laura, someone was-”

She barged ahead of him. Something creaked. 

Purple powder drifted over them. 

Derek swore. His face started burning and blistering; he closed his eyes a second too late and felt them begin to burn, too. 

Laura grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him out of the house. She stumbled down the stairs and toward the side of the house before she let go.

He blinked, trying to clear his vision. He saw Isaac’s blurry form, frozen near the car. The popcorn sat forgotten on the hood. “Call Boyd,” he commanded. 

Laura wrenched something. 

Icy water sprayed Derek in the face. He brought his hands up and scrubbed, using his palms and nails to get as much of it off as he could. He felt his skin healing as the wolfsbane washed away. He grabbed the hose and turned it on Laura. 

“I can’t call—I don’t—I have no-” Isaac stuttered to a stop, face pale and scared. 

Derek yanked his phone out of his pocket and tossed it in Isaac’s direction. His vision was still blurry. His eyes watered violently. He saw Isaac move, but had to turn back as Laura groaned with pain. 

She had blistering burns across her cheeks and nose.

Derek aimed the spray at her face again.

“Okay,” she muttered after a moment. 

He dropped the hose and scrubbed at his arms, using his claws to scrape off the burned skin. It was only as the burns on his own face began healing that he caught the acrid scent of panic. His head jerked up.

Isaac’s heart was pounding; his breath came in harsh, shallow gasps. He had folded over his knees, trembling. 

Derek’s phone was in the grass to his left. 

Laura smacked his arm. “I have to follow the scent. You help him.” She ran before he could protest. 

He looked at Isaac. He had no idea how to help him. He tried to remember Scott when he’d first arrived. 

Scott had been jumpy and quiet, and stuck to Talia and Laura like glue. He’d been wary of Boyd and Derek. Once, Derek had argued with Talia about his curfew and the raised voices had given him a panic attack. 

Derek looked at Isaac sharply. He approached at a slow pace, worried about scaring him. “Isaac are you—do you want me to do anything?” God, he was terrible at this. 

Isaac kept wheezing. 

“Um, our brother Scott used to get scared sometimes. He had asthma, so when he got scared, he couldn’t always get his breath back. He liked it when we talked to him.” Derek’s gaze flicked to the phone. He grimaced. 

Scott told them that his father used to shout a lot before he would hit his mother. Of course, he hadn’t told them that until he was older and better able to articulate what was going on in his head. 

“I’m sorry I threw my phone at you. I won’t do that again.” 

Isaac nodded, but he didn’t straighten up.

“Scott said counting used to help him.” Or was it singing? Derek was getting old. “Why don’t you count, um, five things you hear?”

He nodded again. After a moment, his heart rate began to slow, breath coming in easier.

Derek squinted, trying to remember Scott’s panic attacks. “Now count five things you can smell. I’m probably one of them, I’m sweating so much.”

Isaac made a muffled wheezing noise, like maybe he was laughing. 

Derek, encouraged, kept talking. “Remember how we planned on celebrating Christmas in a week instead of last week? Well, I’m thinking we give you one of your gifts today.” 

Isaac looked up. His face was streaked with tears, but his expression was puzzled. “Gifts?”

“Yes,” Derek said slowly. “Wrapped material items people give as a token of appreciation or affection to people they care about. Typically exchanged around holidays?”

Isaac straightened up and shot Derek an annoyed look. “I _know_ what a gift is.” He roughly wiped his face with his forearm. “Why are you giving me gifts?”

Derek lifted his brows. “Because I wanted to. And Laura and Boyd wanted to. But Scott might’ve forgotten.” He swiped his phone from the grass and pulled up Boyd’s number. “One sec.” He called. “Hey, we had an incident. We need you home. It’s urgent.”

Boyd said, “ _I’ll be there,_ ” and hung up. 

Derek looked between Isaac and the house. “Why don’t we finish up the popcorn while we wait for Laura and Boyd?”

Isaac shrugged and sat down beside Laura’s car. 

Derek grabbed the popcorn and sat beside him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

Laura paced the kitchen. She’d been trying to get ahold of Scott for a couple hours. Her hair was standing in tufts where she’d been tugging on it, forgetting it was caught in a ponytail. 

Derek had already pointed out that Scott was probably in the middle of something at work. He had been ignored. 

“Give me the phone,” Boyd ordered. 

Laura scowled at him. “You have your own.”

“Give me the phone.”

She scoffed and thrust it at him. “Fine. Erica should be here in a few anyway.”

Boyd’s heart skipped. “Why?” he asked evenly.

Derek shared a grin with Laura. 

“She’s coming to clean up the mess,” Laura said, cutting a glance at Isaac. “I let her know what it was, and Mom trusted her to clean this stuff up before, so I figured it’d be fine. Plus, she’s the best.”

“Oh.” Boyd turned away to call Scott, nerves making his shoulders tight. 

“How come you guys had blisters and stuff?” Isaac asked. He was at the table eating the leftovers of the popcorn. He wasn’t going to have an appetite for dinner at this rate. “What was it?”

“It…it was an allergic reaction.” Derek shrugged and watched Boyd pace closer to the back door.

Isaac narrowed his eyes. “How do you guys have the same allergy if you’re all adopted?”

Derek looked over at him again. 

Laura stopped pacing. 

“Laura and I are related by blood. We have the same allergy.” Both statements were technically true, if not strictly linked.

“Oh.” Isaac frowned at the popcorn bucket, but kept eating.

“Yes,” Boyd said suddenly, in a very professional tone. “This is Dr. Vernon Boyd, I’m calling on behalf of Scott Hale. Yes, it’s urgent. Thanks.” He glanced back and gestured at Laura. 

A delighted, somewhat devilish grin curled her mouth. She went and stood beside him. 

“Hey.” Derek nudged Isaac’s chair with his foot. “Come here.” He stood and walked toward the hall; his and Laura’s rooms were on the first floor, with Talia’s. They’d changed over the years, phasing from child to teenager to young adult. Their stuff was the same as they’d left it when they’d moved out, as far as Derek could tell. He knew he’d have had a place the minute he’d wanted to come back.

Talia wasn’t one to dwell on what was, but she’d cut off her own hand before making her children think they weren’t welcome back at home. 

Derek swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. He opened his door and left it open, listening as Isaac shuffled down the hall behind him.

Laura’s voice sharpened. “We will discuss it when you’re home. You’re taking a leave of absence. Boyd will cover for you.”

Boyd huffed. 

Derek grabbed the wrapped box from his desk. He turned, then caught himself before he tossed it. “Here. Early late-Christmas gift.”

Isaac stood in the doorway, expression guarded. “Why?”

“Because we’re weird and like giving people gifts.” Derek stepped closer and handed him the box. 

Isaac looked over it, examining the wrapping paper. His scent was mingled wariness and curiosity, and a repressed scent almost like reluctant happiness. He glanced up and offered Derek a small, cautious smile. “Thank you.”

Derek smiled back. “You don’t have to wait until next Christmas to open it, you know.”

Someone knocked on the backdoor while Isaac was rolling his eyes at him. He started tearing into the wrapping paper. “Whoa,” he breathed. Anxiety poured through his scent, heartbeat doubling.

Derek’s gaze snapped up. “What?”

Isaac held the phone out on his palm. He shook his head. “I-”

“It’s a gift,” Derek said firmly. “And you need one.” He decided to steamroll over any possible weirdness. “After you play with it some and get used to it, we’ll put everyone’s phone numbers in it. I’ll show you the best times to text Scott and annoy him at work, and we can put games on it.” 

“I don’t…I can’t…”

“Why not?” Derek scratched the back of his head. “You’ll start school in the new semester, you have to be able to contact us in an emergency.” 

Isaac nodded. His gaze was still on the iPhone box, cheeks flushed. 

It was maybe a little extravagant for a twelve-year-old, but he’d picked it up when he’d bought his own replacement, and he had money to spare. It would probably last the kid a while, and if it didn’t, then Derek would get him a cheap replacement and call it a lesson learned. 

“Good,” Derek said after another moment of silence. “You play with that.” He stepped out of the room and headed back for the kitchen. He beamed when he saw Erica Reyes talking to Laura. “Hey, you. You look great!” 

She looked over and grinned. She’d been in Derek’s grade in school; they’d been close until he’d left Beacon Hills. Her blonde hair was bundled back, her usual white t-shirt swapped for a blue one emblazoned with _Sunny’s Cleaning_. “Hey _you._ Still as cute as ever.”

Laura made a fake-gagging noise.

Derek screwed his face up at her. 

“I was just telling Laura that my sitter cancelled, so I had to bring Lana. I hope that’s okay.” Her hand drifted down to her side to settle on the shoulder of a little girl hiding behind her leg.

Derek grinned. “Erica, she looks just like you. Hi,” he added, more gently.

Lana smiled and waved before pressing her face into Erica’s leg again. 

“It’s not a problem,” Laura said. “I think I have some crayons around here or something.” She bit her lip. 

Erica laughed and held up her massive purse. “Already got it. Crayons, coloring pages, snacks, first aid, toys—I’ve got it all.” She set the bag on the table and started unloading. 

Lana stuck close to her until she set the crayons down. She scrambled up into the chair and snatched up a bright orange crayon, beaming up at Erica. 

Erica laughed and kissed her forehead. “So I hear you’re back in town for good.” She grinned at Derek.

“For now,” he said, leaning against the table. “I still have time to get back in. There are races in the summer,” he added defensively.

Laura rolled her eyes. “Okay, sure.”

Erica smiled sympathetically at him.

He shrugged. “I’m going to race again. Maybe not this year, but I will.” He had to; he couldn’t stay stuck in this town that had taken his first family from him, and now his mother. That was trying to take them. So he’d stick around, make sure everyone was safe and taken care of, but then…then he was getting back to the sky. 

When Erica got to cleaning and Lana coloring, Laura had to take a call for work, leaving Derek and Boyd in the kitchen with Lana. 

Derek sat across from her; he grinned, wide and surprised, when she passed him a coloring page. “I like your cow,” he said, examining it.

She was diligently coloring it orange. “Me, too,” she said simply. She passed Derek a blue crayon and kept coloring, tongue caught between her teeth.

Helplessly charmed, he began coloring his pigs.

“I’m gonna start dinner,” Boyd said.

“’Kay. Hey, Isaac?” Derek called.

“Wh—yeah?” His voice was closer than Derek was expecting.

Derek turned in his seat and found him in the hall, hovering. “This is Lana.” 

Lana looked up. Her face brightened, and she held out her coloring page. “Moo!” 

Isaac’s guarded expression cracked slightly. “Uh-huh.”

Lana grabbed a pink crayon and held it out.

Derek took a breath, ready to distract her, but—

Isaac accepted the crayon. “Thank you.” And he sat down and joined them. 

Twenty minutes later had Lana chasing Derek and Isaac around the house, screaming with laughter. 

“Oh, please, we always have enough food to feed an army,” Laura was saying. She’d invited Erica to stay for dinner. “Lana’s having a blast, and besides, it’ll be nice to catch up. Boyd’s a great cook.”

“I remember,” Erica said shyly.

Derek tripped over a rug, catching himself on the wall. 

Lana plowed into his leg, shrieking and gnawing at his jeans. “I got you! I got you, I got you!”

“You did! Now let’s get Isaac.” 

Isaac muttered a curse under his breath and ran back for the front of the house.

Lana shouted and gave chase. 

Someone knocked on the front door. 

Derek looked at Boyd, frowning.

He shrugged. He’d been staying in the kitchen a lot, considering he was making some kind of pasta that didn’t seem to need that much supervision. 

“I guess I’ll get it,” Laura muttered. 

Derek stepped around the corner and nearly got bowled over by Isaac. 

“Sorry,” he muttered breathlessly as he bolted past. 

Lana raced after him a second later. 

Derek stepped back, laughing, to let her through.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” a low voice said. “I was nearby and thought I’d check on Isaac.”

Derek leaned forward, trying to see around Laura’s shoulder.

Stiles Stilinski stood on the porch, wearing a white shirt buttoned all the way up, a tie that was just slightly off-center, and holding his jacket over his arm. He noticed Derek and nodded, then looked back at Laura.

Her voice was chipper. “You’re just in time. Dinner’s ready. Why don’t you join us?”

“Oh, I’m not sure that would be appropriate.” He glanced at Derek and away. “I can speak to Isaac quickly-”

“I insist,” Laura said with a wide, wide grin. “You can even use it as a report on how the family interacts. Isaac’s excited for dinner, and will be disappointed if he has to be late.”

Stiles’s shoulders moved. “I—okay. Thank you,” he muttered, as if Laura hadn’t basically forced him to stay. 

As he stepped inside, greeting Erica, he looked off-balance, out of his element.

Derek decided he liked it.


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles was glad he’d stayed for dinner. Isaac had gotten a little stiff when he’d seen Stiles, until Derek told him he was just there to visit. It was a good way to see how Isaac was doing without trying to pry answers out of him or read between the very few lines he gave him.

He liked how Isaac wasn’t afraid to ask for seconds or to tease Laura about the sauce she got on her chin, how he’d talked Boyd’s ear off and made faces at Lana, Erica Reyes’s daughter. 

“Thank you for dinner,” Stiles said. He was helping Isaac and Laura clear the table after dinner. 

“Of course.” Laura smiled a little too sharply and took her stack of plates to the kitchen. 

Isaac made a face at the glob of cold potatoes he’d put his hand in and clattered after Laura. 

Stiles sighed, using a discarded napkin to wipe up the potatoes.

Throughout dinner, Isaac had only gotten tense a couple times; the worst had been when Derek and Boyd had been arguing over the best version of Batman, getting louder the longer it’d gone on.

Laura had cleared her throat, and they’d instantly lowered their voices. It was kind of miraculous to see; whatever had given Talia the strength to raise four kids on her own had clearly been passed on to Laura. 

Stiles took the dishes to the kitchen. “Do you need any help?”

“Nope.” Laura nodded at the filled half of the sink. “Thanks. Isaac’s out back with Lana and Erica,” she added. 

Stiles set the dishes in the hot, soapy water. “Have you settled in alright?”

Her brows went up.

Stiles flushed. She looked just like her brother when she did that. “Last time I was here, you mentioned you were moving back.”

“Ah. Yes, I’m all moved in. I just have to find a job closer to home that _isn’t_ the Beacon Gazette.” Her nose wrinkled. 

“Hmm. My dad says the Gazette just needs new blood and it’ll be back on track again. Right now it’s being run by senior citizens with too much time on their hands. They’ve been running it since it opened, practically, so I guess that’s why. They got comfortable writing whatever they wanted.” He stepped back. “I’d better go speak to Isaac before I leave.” He went out the backdoor. 

The yard wasn’t fenced in, giving little Lana and Isaac plenty of space to chase each other. 

Erica shot Stiles a grin. “Hey. Sorry, they’re just so sweet I couldn’t call them back yet.” 

Isaac caught Lana around the middle and swung her around, her laughter echoing off the trees, before setting her on her feet again. He bolted away, letting her chase him.

Stiles smiled. Then he glanced at his watch and winced.

“Busy, busy,” Erica murmured. She smiled at him though. “I remember you from school.”

He blinked at her. “Do you? I was only a freshman when you graduated.”

“Yeah, but you were in Derek’s baby brother’s class. We kept an eye out for Scotty’s sake.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t have pinned you for a social worker. Maybe a cop, like your dad.”

Stiles shrugged, too. “There were circumstances.”

She nodded. “Aren’t there always?” She looked back at the kids and smiled. “Want me to call them back? I’ve got the Mom Voice,” she added with a wink.

“Yes, please.”

“Isaac, Lana, get back here please! It’s getting late!” 

Isaac held Lana’s hand until they were close to the house, making sure she didn’t trip or get sidetracked. “Thanks for letting her play a while, Miss Reyes.” 

Erica kissed his cheek. “No problem, kiddo. Thank you.” She scooped Lana up and peppered her face with kisses until she was laughing. “Now I think it’s time to get my warrior queen into a bath.”

Lana gasped. “Bath time, Mama?”

“Yes, baby, bath time.”

She waved both her hands at Isaac and Stiles. “Bye-bye! Bath time! Bye! Bye, Isaac!”

He waved back at her, then dropped his hand when he noticed Stiles watching. He waited until Erica and Lana had rounded the side of the house to speak. “Derek said you were just here for dinner.” He looked the smallest bit betrayed, as if he’d trusted Derek’s word and regretted it.

Stiles tried to always be honest with his kids. “I came by to check on you, and was invited for dinner.” He let that sink in, then continued, “Is everything okay here? Are you comfortable?”

Isaac nodded. “Yeah, I like it.” His face flushed slightly and he pulled something out of his pocket. “Derek gave me this for Christmas,” he muttered. 

Stiles glanced at the phone. “I see. Is there a reason you feel like you don’t deserve it?” 

He shrugged, gaze dropping. “I dunno. It’s really expensive.”

“Hmm.” He decided not to press. “Do you still have that card I gave you?”

Isaac nodded.

“You can call me whenever. But if you’re scared to call, you can always text me.”

Isaac snorted. “Do you do anything but work, dude?” Then he froze, waiting to be reprimanded. 

Stiles laughed. “Uh, no. I live my job.” 

Isaac carefully checked his expression before he laughed, too. He shrugged after a few seconds. “I like it here. Derek’s kinda cool. Did you know he races _planes?”_

“He what?”

Isaac nodded eagerly. “He races _planes._ Laura showed me a video and some of his awards and stuff. That’s why he left Beacon Hills, because it was too boring.”

“Huh.”

Isaac’s gaze flickered. “Is that a bad thing?” he asked stiffly. “Are you going to take me away because his jo-”

“No, I’m not,” Stiles reassured him. “I just didn’t know that’s what Derek did.”

“Oh.” Isaac scuffed his toe through the dirt. “Laura said she’s gonna show me how to send a video to Scott.”

Stiles smiled. “I get it, I’ll get lost. Have fun.”

“Thanks.” He flashed Stiles an awkward smile and ran for the house.

Derek came out as he was going in. “Good talk?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Can I walk you to your car?”

Stiles swept his gaze over him, wary. 

He looked perfectly at ease. His hair was messy from chasing the kids around, his t-shirt rumpled, jeans wrinkled. He smiled a little.

“Alright,” Stiles said tentatively. 

They were quiet as they rounded the side of the house, toward where Stiles had left his car. He’d had to upgrade to a deep blue sedan when he’d been made a social worker but he still missed driving his jeep around. 

“Isaac’s doing well,” he said, unable to help himself as they got closer to his car. He turned to face Derek when they stopped next to it. “He seems happy here. I…” He brushed his hand awkwardly down the front of his shirt. “I may have rushed in my decision, before. I’m sorry about that.” He clasped his hands together in front of him. “I still have to do regular check-ins, of course, for a little while, but I’m pleased with how he’s settling.”

Derek nodded. “Good.” His expression changed to something more intense, eyes gleaming. “Do you want to go out for a late dinner Saturday night?”

Stiles glanced involuntarily at the house.

Derek shifted his weight slightly. “This was fun, but I was actually thinking maybe just the two of us? There’s an Italian place out in Lockridge that I’ve been wanting to t-”

Stiles blinked and gaped at him. “I’m _working_ right now. Why would you ask that?”

Derek shrugged. “I like you. No big deal.” His grin widened, the gleam in his eye growing brighter. “You can give me your number and I can ask you again when you’re not working.” 

Stiles fell back a step. “Are you…” Doubt cut him off, suspicion clouding his voice. “Does this have anything to do with Isaac?” he asked, eyes narrowed. “And convincing me to let him stay?”

The gleam died in Derek’s eyes, expression going flat and cold so fast Stiles felt the chill. “Excuse me?”

Stiles swallowed and knew he’d fucked up somewhere. “I—you didn’t-¬”

“No,” Derek said flatly. “If that’s what you think of me, I think we’re done here.” He put his hands up before Stiles could try speaking. “Have a good night, Mr. Stilinski.” He turned on his heel and stalked back to the house. 

Stiles winced as the door slammed behind him. His shoulders hunched. Okay, he’d fucked up big time. He swore under his breath and got into his car. He looked up at the house, big and just old enough to look lived in. He swore again.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm adding these chapters early because I will be out of town Friday. Next posting will be on Thursday. Then Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday like normal. <3

Derek snarled under his breath, tossing a rag aside. He was giving the Camaro a check-up, or giving the pretense of it. He just needed something to do with his hands. He thought of Stiles, the suspicion in his voice as he’d accused Derek of…

Derek’s snarl was louder now, as he ripped the dipstick out of the oil fill port. 

Stiles had accused Derek of trying to _bribe_ him. With his _body._ He shook his head. More like with a date, but the point was, Stiles clearly thought so little of Derek, and that Derek thought so little of _him_ , that he’d try something like that. 

“I’m sending Isaac out there,” Laura said from somewhere in the house. “He’s bored and I’ve been with him all morning. I have an article to finish.”

“Fine,” he snapped. He glared at the inside of the Camaro, but there really wasn’t much for him to do besides wipe parts clean and check the oil. 

Isaac came outside, face set mutinously. “Why do I have to come out here and help you with your dumb car?”

“Because we’re stuck here, so you might as well do something.” Derek eyed him speculatively. “Do you know how to check for low oil on a car?”

“No.” He stopped at the base of the stairs, like he was still deciding whether or not to resist approaching.

“How about change a tire?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m twelve, it’s not like I’m going to be driving anywhere by myself.” 

“Uh-huh. It’ll kill some time. Want me to show you?”

He shrugged petulantly. “Whatever you want.”

Derek pointed at the spot beside him. “Come here, then.” He spent an hour showing Isaac whatever he could about cars and how to fix common problems. He didn’t know much himself, but he knew enough to get by. It wasn’t bad, passing some knowledge along, even if Isaac did roll his eyes a fair bit.

“If you go wash your hands, I’ll show you Scott’s video games that you can play.” 

Isaac bolted toward the house, making him laugh. 

Derek rubbed the back of his hand over his forehead. 

A breeze blew through, carrying the scent of the preserve, trees, lake water, a thin thread of wild flowers, toward him. It nearly bowled him over; it smelled like Talia. She’d always lived here in this house, so the scent of the preserve was so deeply etched into her skin and hair that it was difficult to distinguish the scent of her from the scent of the preserve. They were basically the same thing.

Derek sat down, covering his face. He’d managed to ignore and shove away the grief so far, but now it wouldn’t leave, closed in around him like a coffin of his own. 

He missed her. He’d fought with her and pushed at her, because she would always be there, had always been there, no matter how horrible he was. 

Even when he’d wanted to leave—shake off his bad memories and leave everything, even the world, behind—the only reason he could do that was because Talia was so solid. He’d never doubted for a second that she’d be there to catch him if he fell. He knew he could return home at any point and she’d tell him to put his junk away and wash his hands before dinner. 

He scrubbed his hands over his face, sniffing. He wondered what she’d think of the Stiles situation. 

_Pack first._ He could practically hear her voice in his head. _A threat is coming. Pack first._

He just couldn’t get the guy out of his head. He sighed, letting his head thump back against his car.

Talia would tell him to get off his ass and help his siblings first. Then he could try fixing things with the social worker. 

Derek got up, wiped his face on his shirt, and went to the house.


	14. Chapter 14

Stiles picked at a limp carrot slice, prodding it unsuccessfully with his fork. He sighed. 

John sighed, too, and set his own fork down. “Alright kid. Out with it.”

Stiles looked up. “Huh?”

“You’ve been moping all day. What’s going on?” John scooped up a bell pepper and chicken on his fork, then pointed it at him. “And don’t say nothing.”

Stiles shrugged. In truth, he felt very badly about Derek; he’d let his own insecurities and bad experiences cloud his judgment, and he’d accused him of something rather serious. He glanced up at John, and swallowed thickly. “How’d you make it up to Mom when you screwed up?”

The question clearly surprised him: he sat back in his chair, blinking hard, and let out a long, slow breath. Then he snorted and cracked a smile. “Well, talking out whatever we’d fought about helped. Apologizing when it was my fault. Recognizing what I did wrong. Flowers never hurt, but your mom was more of a date night person than a flower person. Why?”

Stiles grimaced. “I screwed up.” He missed his mother, though enough time had passed now to dull the pain to an ache. 

John nodded and took a bite of the stir-fry Stiles had made for him. “Then I guess you’d better apologize, and go from there.”

Stiles smiled wryly at him. He was glad John wasn’t pressing for details. It would be awkward to explain that there weren’t any. He took a bite of his food. 

Stiles hated grocery shopping. He liked cooking and having food in his house, but he _deeply_ hated grocery shopping. He knew there were options to skip the shopping part, but he always overestimated his apartment’s pantry space when he picked stuff online. 

The store was basically deserted, being mid-afternoon on a Thursday. 

Stiles passed the floral department and hesitated, then kept walking. Flowers weren’t the right way to apologize in this case. He jerked his shoulders. He could just forget about apologizing; have another social worker assigned to Isaac and put the Hales out of his mind.

But then Isaac would have to start over, learn to trust whoever Lydia assigned to him. He might feel like Stiles had given up on him.

Stiles huffed. He’d just apologize to Derek. Just to assuage the curiosity and interest he’d been trying to ignore.

He looked up from the bell peppers he’d been glaring at and smiled automatically. 

Boyd grinned back. “Hey. How are you?” He was pushing a half-full cart, a list grasped firmly in hand.

“I’m okay, how’s it going?”

“Fine. I think everyone’s ready for school to start back up, even Isaac. Derek’s been filling the time teaching him how to do small repairs around the house and stuff, but they’re both going a little stir-crazy.” 

Stiles laughed, imagining it. “He doesn’t have much longer, does he?”

Boyd shook his head. “Next week. We’re _all_ counting the days.” 

Stiles snickered. Then he tilted his head, eyeing Boyd speculatively. It would be seriously humiliating to ask Derek’s big brother how to apologize to him, but…

“What?” he asked, quirking a brow. Apparently it was a family thing.

Stiles had done worse. He said, “So I screwed up with Derek. Um, pretty bad. And I need to apologize.” 

Boyd looked surprised, then intrigued. “Screwed up how?”

Stiles flushed. “It’s not-”

“I’ll help you make up with him,” he clarified. “But I need to know what happened first, to see what kind of apology you need.”

Stiles cringed. This was worse than high school. He quickly told Boyd what had happened, trying to hide how mortified he was. “I didn’t really mean it,” he added at the end, seeing Boyd scowl. “I’ve had parents do that before, though, and it seemed more likely than…anyway, I insulted him a _lot_ , I think, so I wanted to make it up to him.”

“I see.” Boyd hummed thoughtfully. “Derek doesn’t usually hold a grudge—his temper is quick to burn out—so you’re probably fine if you apologize sincerely, maybe explain why you reacted that way. And…” He trailed off, frowning. He turned his head, gaze darting around. His hand clenched around the cart handle, frown deepening to a scowl.

“Boyd?”

He jerked slightly, then looked back at Stiles. “Sorry.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Derek likes breakfast food. A lot. Um, sorry, I have to finish getting groceries,” he muttered. He dragged his cart away, still distracted. 

Stiles stared after him. He had no idea what to do with that.


	15. Chapter 15

It wasn’t a sound so much as a sudden flash of light that woke Derek at three am. He blinked slowly, confused, and rolled over. On his nightstand, his phone screen was lit up with a call.

He grumbled and grabbed it. “Yeah?” he muttered. 

“ _Hale!_ ” The voice was loud over the cacophony in the background, joyful and probably a little drunk.

Derek’s tired brain struggled to place it. He sat up, shifting around so he could lean back against the headboard and squinted at the screen. “Pierce?”

Pierce hooted. “ _Yeah! Hang on._ ” Something rustled, a door slammed, and the noise cut down. “ _Hey! Someone dropped out. There’s an open spot in the Sydney race!”_

Derek’s heart jumped. “Ah, I’m not sure I can-”

“ _Come on, man, they’ll take Hawk Hale back in an_ instant. _Pay the fee and get down here! You’re fearless and good for ratings, you crazy motherfucker!”_

Derek grinned. “I’ll think about it.”

Pierce yelled, “ _Woooooo! That’s fucking_ right! _Call me!_ ” He hung up.

Derek rubbed his face and got out of bed, now wide awake. He went to his desk and woke his laptop, then looked up the rankings for the International Skywolf Air Racing World Series. He scrolled through the categories until he found that it was Myron Barrett who’d dropped out. It was his first season; Derek wasn’t surprised he’d dropped out already. He was a rich old guy who’d just wanted to do something with his piles of money. Derek didn’t like him. 

He noticed Antonia was consistently taking first place now that Derek wasn’t competing anymore. 

Latoya Arnolds and Pierce were fighting for second place in most of the races, followed by Douglas Freeling. 

Derek swore quietly, the longing to be there turning into an ache in his chest. He could go. Take a few flights, arrange for his secondary plane to be shipped from its hangar, and arrive in time for the race. Leave all of his stress, grief, and guilt behind and just _fly._ He’d win, too.

“Fuck.” He shoved away from his desk and went to his closet. He changed into shorts and a t-shirt, grabbing his sneakers and creeping for the front door. 

He went for a run. He used to run a lot before, pushing into the deepest part of the preserve until he could run as fast as he could without worrying about humans seeing him. He liked the speed, the whip of wind in his hair and on his face as he pushed himself. He’d always half hoped that one day he’d go fast enough to leave the ground.

Laura used to hate when he’d go running; she’d once snapped at him that he needed to stop trying to run from the fire. That it was over and there was nothing to run from anymore. 

Derek had plenty to run from.

It was full morning by the time he’d looped back to the house. There was an unfamiliar car with ride sharing service stickers on the window in the driveway. Scott climbed out of the back, pretending to struggle with two loaded bags. 

Derek rolled his eyes and went to help him. “Hey. You took forever getting here.”

Scott swung around, scowling. “I had to explain to my coworkers why I never told them I was having health problems, thanks a lot Laura.” He shoved a bag at Derek, then reached in and grabbed two more. “Thank you, Sierra.” He smiled sunnily at his driver, making her smile back while simultaneously looking awestruck.

Derek snorted and yanked him out of the door. He shut it and waved as she left. 

“I don’t think I should’ve had to come home,” he grumbled.

Derek looked at him.

He set his jaw. “I shouldn’t have! I have work and my friends and my _apartment._ No one is going to mess with me in San Francisco, and Laura’s just—just abusing her power.”

“No, she isn’t. This is more important,” Derek said. “Someone put wolfsbane in the house. They were _in_ the house.”

Scott’s face was still set. “But they weren’t in _mine,_ so why-”

“Pack first,” Derek snapped. “We’re safer together. If someone’s targeting us-”

“Maybe someone’s targeting _you_ ,” he sneered. “For being a big jerk.”

“Mom was murdered,” he snarled. “Someone might try to kill you or the rest of us, too.” 

“Why would they want to?” Scott scoffed.

Derek heard mocking laughter in his head. He surged forward, shoving Scott back several feet. “Because of what we _are._ They don’t need a fucking reason, Scott. They want to kill us because they know how.”

His face crumbled as he remembered. “Derek-”

“Fuck you.” He shoved him away again. “Go back to the fucking city. You’re right. _You’re_ perfectly safe out there.”

“That isn’t what I meant!” He knocked Derek’s arms aside when he tried to push him again. “God, I’m sorry, okay? I just forgot.”

“Lucky you,” he snarled. “I’m so glad it’s so easy for you to forget that people want to exterminate us.”

Scott stepped forward cautiously. “I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “I was just mad I had to lie to my coworkers. I didn’t mean to say the pack isn’t important to me.”

Derek glowered at him. “You’re not the only one who’s stuck here,” he reminded him. “I had to leave my job and friends, too.” He swallowed. “Come on, let’s get your stuff inside.” He picked up two of the bags. “What did you bring, anyway? Why do you have so many bags?”

“Laura said she didn’t know how long I’d be here,” he said lightly.

Derek rolled his eyes and headed for the porch. “You reek.”

Scott shrugged. “Yeah, I took a bus from San Francisco to get here, then called the ride service.” 

“Ugh.” 

“It wasn’t so bad.” Scott went up the porch first, fumbling with his keys. 

Another car pulled up the driveway. 

Derek cocked his head, thinking the driver had found something Scott had forgotten.

A powder blue jeep bumped up behind the Camaro.

Derek frowned.

Stiles climbed out of it.

Derek’s face went blank. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scott’s head turn, noticing Derek’s tension. 

He looked between him and Stiles. “Hi!” he called.

Derek growled quietly.

Scott ignored it. 

“Hello.” Stiles looked nervous. He was wearing jeans and a faded Batman shirt with a rip in the collar, hair mussed. He wasn’t holding himself still like he normally did, so while the fingers of his right hand twisted anxiously in the hem of his shirt, his left hand fiddled with his keys. He looked good.

Scott looked back at Derek. “Well, I’m gonna go wake Laura up. She wanted me home, now she’s got me.” He bumped Derek’s shoulder as he passed, grinning.

Derek set the two bags he’d been carrying on the porch, beside the door. “Do you need something?” he asked stiffly. “Isaac starts school Monday.”

Stiles swallowed and nodded. “I’m actually—it’s my day off. I’m not working.” He stepped forward, then back, wavering slightly. 

Derek scowled and stepped off the porch. He ignored the grateful look Stiles shot him and moved just close enough that Stiles wouldn’t feel like he had to shout to be heard. 

“I wanted to apologize for my accusation the other day.” His gaze dipped away for a moment, then shot back up to meet Derek’s again. “It wasn’t fair of me, and I feel terrible for it. I’m sorry.” 

Derek sighed. He never could hold a grudge when someone tossed him even a cursory apology; there was no holding out against one so sincere, paired with big brown eyes and a hopeful expression. He hadn’t been able to stay mad when Scott had broken his school project when they were kids, and he couldn’t hold out now. “Alright,” he said at last. “Thanks.”

Stiles nodded, his pulse quickening. “I, um.” Nerves filtered through his scent, matching the anxious flutter of his heart. “I was wondering if, um, if you wanted to go to the diner on Main for breakfast.” His cheeks flushed and his gaze dropped. 

He shouldn’t; Stiles was right to shoot him down in the first place. Derek didn’t need anything else pinning him down here. 

Stiles peeked up at him and offered a tiny, hesitant smile.

“Okay,” he said.


	16. Chapter 16

Stiles was in trouble. 

Derek’s cute and fun, if a bit snappish and gruff at first. Breakfast was enjoyable, surprisingly so, after they got past their initial awkwardness. They talked about comics and movies, things that’d changed in Beacon Hills since Derek had been there last. 

“They added coin machines in the park,” Stiles said, nodding at the park across the road as they exited the diner.

There was a large lake that’d recently had a fountain added to it right next to the park; ducks and geese wandered the edge, eager to be fed by optimistic park-goers.

“For what?”

“Duck feed pellets. So instead of feeding them bread, people give them pellets that won’t make them sick.” Stiles held up a finger and ran to the jeep, reaching for the jar he kept in the middle console. He waved it at Derek, grinning. “Come on. They get excited any time someone gets close to the machines.” 

Derek laughed, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. 

They walked side-by-side across the street in companionable silence except for the rattling of Stiles’s change jar.

The ducks saw them going for the feed dispenser and got excited, rushing over as a group. They stopped further back than they normally did, flapping and quacking nervously. 

Stiles fed the machine until it gave them a couple handfuls of feed. “Here.” He poured some into Derek’s hand. He set his coin jar on top of the machine and pulled his phone out.

“Maybe you should go first,” Derek said dubiously.

“No, it’s okay. I’m sure it’s going to be great.”

He turned his head, eyes narrowed.

Stiles grinned at him. “Are you afraid of the ducks?”

“No.” He and the ducks eyed each other.

Stiles opened up his camera. 

Derek crouched and held out his hand. 

Several ducks backed away, wings flapping with panic, leaving a crescent-shaped gathering of ducks in front of him. 

He sighed. “Animals don’t really like me.”

Stiles snorted. “You’re underestimating the power of a duck’s desire for food.” He tossed one of his pellets in front of the nearest duck.

The grass still hadn’t perked up from the wet winter they’d had, so it was easily visible. The ducks seemed to be deciding if it was worth it.

One brave duck waddled up to Derek’s outstretched hand and took some of the pellets. 

Stiles snapped a picture of the surprised look on Derek’s face. Yeah, he was doomed. 

The rest of the ducks seemed to realize it was safe and swarmed. They turned back into their usual pushy, greedy selves and Stiles _loved_ Derek’s expression. 

He sent four pictures to Boyd’s phone, adding a “breakfast worked, thank you,” text at the bottom. 

“I’m out, I’m done. You ate it all,” Derek said suddenly.

The ducks weren’t interested in his excuses and pushed at his hands.

Stiles handed over his pellets, snorting with laughter. 

It wasn’t long before the geese came over to investigate, honking their displeasure at missing out. Stiles tossed them a handful of feed. They made their escape while they were distracted, heading for the walking trail that went around the whole park.

“Thanks. That was fun.” Derek smiled at him.

Stiles nodded and looked away. “So. Has it been long enough that I can ask about your air racing, or am I supposed to wait until the second date to ask that?”

Derek quirked a brow at him. “What about it?”

“What _is_ it? Tell me about it. Why’d you start? How?”

He snorted. “Same way anyone gets into anything. Knew someone. Only in my case, I knew someone who knew someone.” He shrugged. “I liked racing cars and boats, but it wasn’t fast enough.” 

Stiles scoffed. 

He smirked a little. “Well, it’s true. I wanted to see the world outside of Beacon Hills, and I wanted the speed.” His eyes went half lidded with memory, a small, pleased smile curling his lips. A dull flush crept over his face. 

Stiles’s breath caught; he felt like he was seeing something he shouldn’t, and realized why a second later: The expression on Derek’s face was pure, unmistakable lust. Stiles wasn’t sure what he’d do if that expression were aimed at him.

“It was incredible to leave the ground, to blast around at those speeds. Like I could leave behind everything and just keep going forever. Like I wasn’t tied down.” 

Stiles frowned, but asking felt too personal. He made himself smile and jostle Derek’s arm. “Well, tell me. Are you any good?”

Derek grinned at him. “The best.”

Stiles’s heart fluttered. 

He looked Derek up later that night, and realized he wasn’t kidding when he said he was the best. People in the air racing community—fans, commentators, judges, reporters—called him Hawk Hale, because he was known to creep up on whoever was outstripping him, then blow past them. He did tricks mid-race occasionally—victory barrel rolls and other things that Stiles and several commentators thought looked suicidal. He did trick competitions, too, which the International Skywolf Air Racing World Series—Skywolf Races for short—also hosted. 

“Damn,” Stiles muttered. He watched a few videos of races, then switched over to interviews from after the races. 

Derek’s hair was always matted down and sweaty, but he was grinning, a flush of triumph on his face, and jesus, Stiles wanted to jump the guy. Damn it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just got back from my trip; sorry it's late! Enjoy <3

Derek felt like a teenager, nervous before his first date. Stupid, but he couldn’t help it. He liked Stiles a lot, even more now that he’d seen him when he wasn’t working, relaxed and happy. 

Scott walked in without knocking. “Have you seen my Xbox contr—what’s going on?” he asked, scenting Derek’s nerves.

He rolled his eyes. “Nothing. You left your controller on the couch, it’s probably between the cushions.” 

Scott looked him over, then the four discarded shirts on his bed. A grin lit his face. “Do you have a date?”

“Yes.” He bent to grab a pair of socks.

Scott laughed. “Wow. Must be hot.” Pause. “Wait, the social worker?”

Derek straightened up, glowering at him.

He held his hands up. “I was just wondering, since I heard you guys last week.”

“We were just talking!”

Scott nodded and moved to Derek’s bed, flopping down on top of his shirts. “He’s Stiles Stilinski, right?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded again. “I remember him from school.”

Derek looked up. “How?” he demanded, hands flexing. “Was he mean to you?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “No. Stop being like that, I’m not fifteen anymore. We used to hang out at lunch, but he had stuff going on, so he was pretty quiet.” He looked Derek up and down. “Are you staying out all night?”

“Oh my god.” He wasn’t discussing his sex life with his little brother. “Shut up.” 

Laura and Boyd came down the hall; Laura stuck her head in. “Derek, are you banging the social worker?” She grinned, wide and maniacal. 

Boyd leaned over her shoulder. 

Derek snapped, “We’re having dinner.”

“Is that _code?_ ” she sang, making Boyd and Scott laugh.

“All of you, get out of my room.” He yanked Scott’s leg, nearly sliding him to the floor. 

Scott rolled his eyes and got up, waving his hands as he went to the door.

Laura snorted and led them out.

As they were clearing the hall, Isaac stopped in the doorway, looking nervous. “Derek, can I use your laptop?”

Derek frowned. “Why?”

His shoulders hunched and he stepped back. “Never mind,” he mumbled. He left the room. 

Derek’s frown deepened, but a glance at the time had him shrugging off his confusion. He’d tell one of the other three to make sure everything was alright with him. He grabbed his jacket and keys, heading for the door.

Scott, Boyd, and Laura were all in the living room.

Derek eyed the backdoor, but knew he’d never make it. He went to the living room.

Laura whistled through her teeth. “Bustin’ out the leather jacket!”

“Shut-up,” he grumbled. He stalked toward the door and leaped when something smacked his ass. He turned, snarling.

Scott cackled and lifted the back of his jacket, holding on and dancing out of reach from Derek’s swiping claws. “Look at those _jeans_! Jeeze, Derek, can you even breathe?”

Derek finally managed to push him away. He pulled his jacket back in place. “Fuck off. They’re just pants.”

“Uh-huh.” Boyd elbowed Scott. “He can wear them that tight because he doesn’t expect to wear them very long.”

Scott howled.

“Oh, _fuck off._ You’re just mad because you’re stuck here playing fucking board games with your siblings instead of doing anything interesting.”

“Like the social worker?” Scott gasped, then chortled. 

Laura snorted. “Sure, Derek. But we’ve known you forever. That,” she pointed at his jacket, “is your lucky jacket.”

“And those are your _get lucky_ pants,” Boyd snickered. 

Derek’s face flushed. “You’re all disowned. Isaac’s now my only sibling.”

“We look forward to hearing about your date in the morning,” Laura said gleefully. 

Derek flipped them off and left before they could tease him anymore. _Assholes._ He’d forgotten what it was like to live with them. 

Stiles’s apartment was in the newer part of town, so Derek had to use his GPS to navigate to it. He saw his blue jeep in the lot, and figured the sedan he usually drove while working was in one of the garages lined up along the back of the parking lot. He parked beside it and thumbed his phone, checking the message Stiles had sent him for his apartment number. 

He shook his hands as he went up, telling himself he was being stupid. This thing he was starting with Stiles was supposed to be fun. No reason to be nervous. In fact, he probably wasn’t nervous—he was eager. It was just that the other three had fucked with his head. Nodding, he marched to door number 762 and knocked. He heard Stiles curse from within and smirked, listening as he made his way through the apartment. 

The door opened. “Hey,” Stiles breathed. His cheeks were flushed. “Sorry, I was cleaning up a mess I made.” He blinked, his gaze sweeping over Derek. His mouth curled. “You look nice.”

Derek took a second to look him over, too, and felt his mouth go dry. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who’d decided on tight pants for the evening, only Stiles’s were shades darker, and made his legs look miles long. He had on a pale blue shirt, buttoned all the way to the top. Derek wanted to rip it open with his teeth. 

“You, too,” he managed after a very noticeable, very long silence. 

Stiles licked his lips. “Um. Thanks.” His gaze flicked down, then back up. “Do you,” he inhaled, “maybe want to order in?’

“God, yes.” He stepped in when Stiles stepped back. He closed and locked the door without looking away from him. They stared at each other, as if they were still trying to decide. The silence buzzed between them. Derek took a breath, ready to suggest—something, anything. 

Stiles licked his lips again and moved forward.

Derek met him halfway, one hand sliding up the back of his neck and into his hair. Their mouths met with a sort of desperation. Derek groaned, dragging him closer and licking into his mouth.

Stiles bit his lip and pulled back. “Bed?”

“Yeah.” Derek yanked him back in, pulling at his hair to tip his head back so he could plunder his mouth.

Stiles moaned and grabbed Derek’s shoulders, backing up and leading him away from the door.


	18. Chapter 18

Derek couldn’t help inhaling deep, heady lungfuls of Stiles’s scent, biting and licking at his throat as they fumbled to undress each other. He yanked Stiles closer by his belt loops, then reached for his zipper.

“Left,” Stiles gasped against his mouth. “Door. Left.” He swung a hand out, thumping it against a door.

Derek figured he had it handled and focused on unbuttoning his pants. A memory rose to his mind, unbidden, of doing almost this exact thing with his last one night stand in Barcelona. He shook it off, reminding himself that this was different.

“You okay?” Stiles swept his hands up and down his back, putting a bit of distance between them. “If this is too fast-”

“Nah. I like fast.” Derek pulled him in for another kiss, shoving his pants down so he could press his palms against the hot skin of his hips. 

“I’m getting that,” Stiles managed. He pulled him into the bedroom and toward the bed. It took up most of the room, made up with—a quick sniff revealed—freshly laundered sheets.

Derek grinned. “Cocky.”

“Hopeful.” He pushed Derek’s jacket off his shoulders, then yanked his shirt over his head. He paused, eyeing Derek’s chest. “What, did you bench press your plane?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he said dryly. “Before and after every race.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t-” Stiles continued to eye him, then shrugged, his long fingers making quick work of the buttons on his shirt.

“Do you always button them all the way up?” Derek pressed a kiss to the base of his throat, unable to help himself. He flicked his tongue over his tripping pulse.

“Um, yeah.” His breath hitched. “I look weird if I leave even one of them unbuttoned, so I just. Don’t.”

“Hmm.” Derek pushed the shirt down off his shoulders, sliding his hands over the soft skin. He felt Stiles shudder against him, lust thick in the air, and bit his shoulder, a quick nip that made him jump.

“Fuck,” Stiles muttered. “Do that again.” He yanked on Derek’s hair when he laughed. He backed up a step and shoved his pants down the rest of the way.

Derek growled in the back of his throat when he realized he wasn’t wearing anything under them.

Stiles laughed and climbed onto the bed. He leaned over the other side. 

Derek made quick work of his own shoes and pants, watching Stiles as he dug around. He climbed up on the bed. 

Stiles turned, dropping the condoms he’d grabbed on the pillows. “I don’t even know where to start.” He licked his lips again. 

Derek laughed and figured he’d help him along. He grabbed him by the hips and yanked him closer. He liked kissing him already, loved the way he tasted and how he ran his tongue over Derek’s bottom lip so gently before taking control. He twisted, moving Stiles where he wanted him, and licked and bit his way down his chest. He pressed his face against his hip, breathed, and nipped the skin sharply before moving on. “You got a preference?” He grinned up at him, nudging his legs aside so he could settle between them. 

Stiles smirked back. “Nope.”

“Perfect.” He wrapped his hand around him, holding his hips down against the bed when he jerked. “Let’s see if you can keep up with me, Stilinski.” 

“Oh, it’s on, you arrogant-” He broke off with a gasp when Derek went down on him. 

“Timer’s running,” Derek pulled back to say, licking just above his hand and watching Stiles’s expression. 

Stiles made a face at him and pulled him up so they could kiss. He grabbed Derek’s hips and shifted, angling himself so he could rock against his thigh. He put his head back.

Derek darted forward and licked his throat, then, unable to help himself, scraped his fangs gently over his pulse.

Stiles shuddered and came, too caught up in his orgasm to notice that Derek’s teeth were just a little too sharp. He relaxed and stared at Derek with hooded, satisfied eyes. 

Derek kissed him hard, then whined when Stiles stroked his thigh.

He laughed drunkenly. “Got you, don’t worry.” He rolled his shoulders and flipped their positions so suddenly Derek was left dazed. He straddled Derek’s thighs and reached between them, curling his hand around Derek’s dick. He pressed his mouth to Derek’s and started stroking.

After Derek had come, Stiles flopped on his back on the other side of the bed. He let out a long, long sigh.

Derek was sort of dazed. Whatever his siblings had said, he hadn’t actually expected to do this tonight. Not that he minded. He glanced at Stiles. 

He was staring at the ceiling. “I’d planned that differently.”

Derek frowned and looked away. He couldn’t smell anything but satisfaction and sex, but…

Stiles stroked a hand over his thigh. “Not that it was bad. But I had planned a whole conversation to lead to inviting you back in here for drinks after dinner, flirting, seduction.” He sighed again and looked at Derek. “It’s just as well. I spilled the wine everywhere just before you got here. I was cleaning it up when you knocked.”

“Ah.” Derek leaned in and kissed him. “Well, we still have all night.”

Stiles smiled. “True.” 

They got dressed—sort of: just boxers for Derek and sweatpants for Stiles—and ordered pizza. Stiles instantly teased him about his lack of toppings. 

“Seriously?! But there’s so many! You could get peppers, spinach, broccoli, onions, olives, tomatoes, jalapeños, even pineapple!”

Derek snorted. “What, do you work at the pizza place?”

Stiles flicked his arm. “No, but just pepperoni and _cheese?_ How can you live like that?”

“If I wanted a salad, I’d have a salad. I don’t want a bunch of crap on my pizza.”

Stiles snorted and shoved him onto the couch. They made out until the pizza arrived. 

A few times throughout dinner, Derek paused, wondering if it was supposed to be this easy. They argued about the Justice League movie and Stiles stole pepperoni off his pizza, then got sauce all over his cheeks, but it was just…easy. 

“So.” Stiles wiped his fingers meticulously on a napkin. “I have a plan for dessert.”

“Oh?” Derek wondered if he should mention the sauce on his face. 

He stood. “Yep.” He grabbed Derek’s hand and pulled until he followed him back to the bedroom. 

Derek got home around two am; everyone was asleep already, thank _god._ He was just too tired to deal with their questions and teasing. For a human, Stiles had a _lot_ of energy. Derek fell face first onto the couch. He smiled into the cushions as he fell asleep.


	19. Chapter 19

Stiles was surprised by how well he and Derek fit into each other’s lives. They didn’t always have time for each other, but still, it was almost too easy. Stiles was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It wasn’t like they got along suddenly—they argued about dumb things, and Derek got very stiff and defensive if Isaac came up, but…

Stiles tucked his phone away, silenced, and straightened his tie. 

The Rowe children had court today, and Stiles was needed. They were already in the courtroom with their foster parents. They looked scared, but the youngest, Mark, waved at Stiles when he saw him.

Stiles waved back, offering a smile, and took his seat. 

Mr. Rowe came in, already glaring and pissed off.

Kimmy, the eldest of the four, shrank back against her foster mother. 

Stiles glared back at Rowe. 

The judge was a reasonable man. “And what is your opinion on the matter, Mr. Stilinski?”

His opinion was that Phil Rowe was human garbage. “My opinion is that the Rowe children should stay in the custody of their foster parents. Mr. Rowe has not completed rehab or anger management per his agreement, and is unfit to care for them, Your Honor.” 

Judge Haynes nodded. “I’m inclined to agree with you. Custody will be granted to Mr. and Mrs. McBride, and I think visitation will be held off until you’ve completed rehab and anger management, Mr. Rowe. I’ll sign these now.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Rowe gritted out.

Stiles couldn’t help smirking at him as they were dismissed. He’d seen what he had done to all four of those kids. He didn’t deserve them.

“Asshole!” The shove came from behind, hard enough to send him stumbling. 

Stiles’s feet tangled on the way down. His face slammed into one of the benches, his lip splitting when his teeth caught it. He could hear Rowe swearing and the kids crying, but he couldn’t get up—his head was spinning. 

The bailiff subdued Rowe while Stiles was still down.

He swore quietly, touching his cheek. He winced. His eye was already swelling. He pushed up on his knees, waiting until his head stopped throbbing.

“You okay?” One of the security guys helped him stand. He hissed. “You’re gonna have a shiner.”

“Great,” Stiles sighed. 

“Want to press charges?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

Rowe started howling obscenities. 

Stiles went to the sheriff’s department after all the paperwork was done; Lydia had taken one look at his bruised face and given him the remainder of the week off. She didn’t want him scaring people, which made sense. So he went to the department for ice and to whine about his bruises to John. 

“And you’re filing charges,” John snapped. “Non-negotiable.”

Stiles laughed a little. “I already did, don’t worry. The paperwork should cross your desk soon enough.”

“Good.” John sighed and sat back. “Well, I guess this isn’t the worst you’ve gotten on the job.”

“Nope.” Stiles pressed the ice to his face. “Plus, he’s in jail and away from the kids. That’s what’s important.” 

“Yeah.” John dug around his desk until he found a tiny bottle of ibuprofen. “Here, to help with the headache and swelling.”

“Thanks.” He set the ice on the desk to fumble with the cap. 

Someone knocked on the open door. “Hey, Sheriff.”

John’s brows lifted. “Mr. Hale. Isaac.”

Stiles turned a little, keeping the bruised half of his face toward John. He smiled. 

Isaac waved. He had his backpack on, like he’d just come from school.

Derek was beside him. “Isaac’s doing a report on current events and wanted to interview you—what the hell happened?” he barked.

Isaac jumped and ducked.

Stiles winced, realizing he’d turned enough for Derek to see the bruises. “Ah-”

“Who hit you?” His eyes went dark and dangerous; he strode across the room to take Stiles’s chin, angling his face to get a better look.

“It’s no big deal-”

“Like hell it isn’t! The whole side of your face is bruised!” His voice was furious, but his hands were gentle as he prodded the bruises. 

“Derek.” Stiles cut his gaze toward Isaac, who was frozen in the doorway. “Chill. It’s not a big deal.”

John cleared his throat. “Hey, Isaac, you want to tour the department?”

“Sure,” he mumbled. 

Stiles watched them both go, then gently removed Derek’s hands from his face. He squeezed his wrists. “Things got out of hand while I was working.”

Derek lifted a brow. He still looked ready to rip someone apart.

Stiles sighed and told him what’d happened. “It’s rare,” he said when he finished, “but it happens.” He smirked, smug all over again. “Now he won’t have a chance to hurt those kids again.”

Derek shook his head and grabbed the ice from the desk, setting it gingerly against the heated, swollen skin. 

Stiles sighed. “Thanks.” He could tell Derek was still upset, so he asked, “How’s Isaac doing?”

Derek gave him a look like he knew what he was doing. “Fine,” he said after a second. “He doesn’t seem to have trouble at school, but I think he’s bored. He doesn’t really have friends.”

“Hmm. Maybe he needs a hobby.” When Derek made a face, he pinched his arm lightly. “Something fun, that isn’t school work, for him to focus on.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I can sign him up for knitting, but I’m telling him it’s your fault.” He smiled when Stiles protested. He kissed him lightly, mindful of the cut on his lip.

Stiles sighed and kissed him back. The pain was already fading, numbed by the ice. 

“You should let me take you out later.” Derek brushed his nose against Stiles’s. “We can get ice cream. I think you’ve earned it.”

Stiles smiled. “Maybe.” He kissed him and let himself forget about work.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for bloodied werewolves in this chapter <3

Derek leaned back in his chair, watching Boyd pace the kitchen. He was on the phone making arrangements to take an overnight shift so he could stay home, pacing and rubbing a hand over his head. Derek wondered if he knew he’d picked up that habit from Laura, who was doing the exact same thing in the dining room fifteen feet away. 

Talia hadn’t done that; Derek had gotten his stillness from her. They would both watch Boyd and Laura pace when they were all teenagers, Boyd trying to figure out his homework, Laura arranging college tours. 

Derek dropped his gaze to the table. He remembered. 

Laura and Derek’s birth mother used to do that. He could sort of remember her—he was eight when she died, after all—but with no pictures and twenty-six years of separation, he could only remember little things, or things that came back suddenly. Like this. Like how she would pace and run her hand over her hair, often accidentally loosing it from the elastic holding it up, when she was stressed. 

“Okay.” Laura thumped into the chair next to Derek, jarring him from his thoughts. She looked frazzled. “I’ve talked to some of Mom’s contacts, but none of them have heard anything.” 

Boyd hung up and sat across from Laura. He was tired, drooping in his seat and frowning dazedly. He rubbed his eyes. “Did you try-”

“Yep.”

Derek inhaled. “What about Sa-”

“Called her. No one has said that Mom was worried or anything, or that she was fighting with anyone. She hadn’t been keeping in contact, though. She was focused on Isaac.” Laura rubbed a hand over her eyes. 

Derek dropped his gaze again. So many years spent apart and they still had each other’s little habits and mannerisms. 

“Well, I don’t know, then,” Boyd growled. His eyes gleamed briefly gold. It was getting close to the full moon; Boyd was always a little more…bark…near the moon.

Laura was way more bite than anything. She bared her teeth. “Neither do I. But someone was in our _house_ , someone set a wolfsbane trap for us. And someone murdered Mom. That’s huge.”

Derek ran his thumb over a water ring on the table. “What if…” He swallowed. “What if it was hunters? I mean, it has to be, doesn’t it?”

Laura’s heart raced. “Don’t say that,” she snapped.

He looked up at her. “Why not? It could be.”

“Derek, I said-”

“It could be the ones who killed our first pack,” he said defiantly. “They might-”

Laura’s snarl was so loud it drowned out his thoughts. 

He tipped his head, staring at her. Outside, he heard Scott running back to the house. He must have forgotten something.

Boyd held a hand out. “Stop it. Laura, Derek’s right. Wolfsbane has to be hunters or, I guess, other werewolves. But most likely hunters. Derek, it’s probably not the ones from over two decades ago,” he reasoned. 

Laura curled her lip.

The front door opened.

Derek shot to his feet before he even understood the scent clogging his nostrils.

Blood.

He raced for the living room. 

Scott stood in the doorway. He had blood down the side of his face and front of his shirt, with glass glittering in his hair and arms. 

“What _happened?_ ” Derek nudged him out onto the porch and started brushing glass off of him.

Blood welled up on his arms, dripping as the cuts healed. 

“I borrowed Laura’s car and it didn’t—there weren’t—the brakes…” He blinked at Derek in a daze. 

Derek swept a hand through his hair, dragging glass out of it. His hand came away smeared with blood. “Where’s the car?”

He flapped a hand over his shoulder. “I never even made it to town.”

“Okay. Sit down.” He backed him onto the bench near the door. 

Laura came out with a wet rag. “Boyd’s already running to check out the car.” 

“Sounds like the brake line was tampered with,” Derek said tersely. 

“Did the airbag deploy?”

Scott shook his head. 

“Was there any strange smell? Like someone had been in it?”

Scott’s face twisted. “I don’t know. I couldn’t smell anything over your air freshener.” 

Derek looked up at Laura sharply. 

She shook her head. “I don’t use air fresheners, Scott.” She swore and walked away.

Derek started mopping blood off Scott’s face. 

“Derek, your car smells like air freshener, too,” Laura called. 

“Not me.” He squeezed the rag between his fists, then got back to cleaning Scott up. 

Laura muttered, “Fuck,” and got down to look under his car. 

Scott winced and pulled a piece of glass out of his left arm. “I’m sorry about your car, Laura.” 

“It wasn’t your fault.” She stood up, dusting her pants off. 

Boyd returned, running up the driveway. “Someone put a hole in the brake line.”

“Yeah, they did the same to Derek’s and yours, I bet.”

Derek snarled, standing up. “Let’s go find them. They can’t be too far.”

Boyd nodded, eyes glowing gold.

Scott stood and moved behind Derek.

Laura shook her head. “They’re probably gone-”

Boyd snapped his teeth. “They tried to kill us!”

“Lock it down.” She looked at the three of them, then pointed at Derek’s car. “The airbag has been tampered with. Whoever did it is good, you can barely tell, but I’d bet you anything there’s wolfsbane in there.”

“How did they even get this close without us noticing?” Derek demanded. 

Laura swallowed. “They’ve done it before.”

Scott inhaled sharply. He touched Derek’s arm, whining very softly in the back of his throat. 

“This obviously has to do with Mom’s death. Scott, Boyd, go to the school, keep an eye on Isaac. Derek and I will search the woods and around the house.”

Boyd nodded, and Scott went inside to change.


	21. Chapter 21

With something to do, it was hard to focus on the fear. Derek only split from Laura far enough that they could cover more ground. He could still hear her. Every now and then, he caught an unfamiliar scent, or the smell of wolfsbane, but it was so faint he couldn’t find the trail. 

Frustrated, he started back toward the house. “There’s nothing out here. They must have done it last night.”

Laura’s answering grumble was too low for him to hear.

He circled the house, making sure no one was around, then waited on the porch for Laura. 

She came out of the woods five minutes later, scowling. She sat next to him. Sighed. “We may have to call the sheriff.” 

Derek looked at her.

She lifted and dropped her hand. “Mom trusted him. And.” She shrugged. “Maybe he’ll find something we can’t. Fingerprints or something.” 

Derek sighed, too. “He did say to call if we needed anything.”

She nodded. 

“Let me clean up this glass.”

“Okay. I’ll tell him that Boyd took Scott to the hospital, that way when he sees the car, he won’t freak.” She ran a hand over her head and pulled out her phone.

Derek stood and went to get the broom.

Sheriff Stilinski showed up after the glass was cleaned up, looking concerned. “Is everyone okay?” 

“Yes, sir,” Laura answered. She’d been leaning on the Camaro waiting. She straightened up, looking nervous. “Boyd took Scott in for his wounds.”

He looked dubious. “Oh-kay. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Derek stayed on the porch, arms crossed, while Laura filled him in about the punctured brake lines and tampered-with airbags. She left out the wolfsbane, apparently deciding it would be too difficult to explain without giving too much away.

Sheriff Stilinski nodded, troubled. “I can check for fingerprints, but they probably wore gloves.” He set his hands on his hips and blew out a slow breath. “I know Talia was worried about hunters for a while after she got you two, but she hadn’t mentioned anything recently.” 

Derek’s arms dropped to his sides.

Laura’s posture sagged slightly to the right, like she’d broken. “I—hunt—what?”

Derek mouthed soundlessly. 

“You _know_?” Laura blurted.

Sheriff Stilinski looked unimpressed. “What, that you’re werewolves?”

Laura sputtered. 

“Of course I know. I’ve been helping Talia keep it under wraps since she dragged the two of you snarling and snapping out of the woods.” He shook his head. “I thought she’d told you.”

“No.” Laura took a breath. “She always told us to go to you if we needed help, but she never told us you _knew._ We just figured you guys were friends.” She pressed a hand over her eyes. “Well, that…simplifies things.”

Derek cleared his throat. “Does, um, does Stiles know?”

Sheriff Stilinski studied him for a long moment. “No. It wasn’t my secret to tell.” 

Derek nodded, though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. It would’ve been nice, having Stiles know already. 

“Well, since you know, I guess I could tell you someone put wolfsbane in our house, and someone was following Boyd at the grocery store a few weeks ago.”

He nodded, face growing tense. “Alright. I’m going to suggest you guys get alarm systems _only_ because I get the feeling any hunters who’ve already been inside won’t be expecting it and will hopefully be caught unaware. I’m not stupid enough to think they won’t know how to disable them if they know they’re there. I’ll help you file a report for the cars for your insurance, and maybe call a couple tows.”

“Thanks, Sheriff. Really.” Laura crossed her arms. 

After the cars had been taken away to be repaired, Sheriff Stilinski left, promising to be in touch about the situation. 

“I still can’t believe he knows,” Laura muttered. “And that Mom never told us!”

Derek shook his head. “It’s good. Maybe he can help.” He took his phone out when it vibrated. “Boyd rented a car.”

“Good. Tell him to wait until Isaac’s off school, then drive him home.” She rubbed her face. “Why can’t they just…” She swallowed. Grief wafted from her, thick and heavy. “I just want them to leave us alone.” She walked up to the porch and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I hate them.”

He turned into her, hugging her and squeezing his eyes shut. “So do I.”

Laura shook her hopelessness off a moment later, while Derek was still wallowing. “Come on. We have to figure out what to feed the kid, and what we’re going to do about the alarm system.” She said it slowly, like she still wasn’t sure about it.

Derek wasn’t, either.

Boyd and Scott returned twenty minutes later, with an uncharacteristically cheerful Isaac in tow. Derek glanced at Boyd, brows lifted, but he just shrugged and went to get ready for work. 

“What’s going on?” he couldn’t help asking as Isaac came into the dining room.

He slung his backpack into one of the chairs and unzipped it. “There’s this new girl at school named Allison. She’s really cool, she asked me to help her with her English work if she helped me with science.” He looked thrilled. 

Derek smiled. “That’s cool. I’m glad you made a friend,” he said carefully, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

Isaac smiled shyly, ducking his head. “Me, too,” he mumbled, flushing.

Laura smiled, too. “Okay, why don’t you do your homework, then we’ll eat and you can pick a movie for us to watch.”

“Scott said he would help me.”

Scott came from the living room. “I will, but first do what you know.” He paused. “Or do you not know where to start?”

Isaac sighed loudly, put upon, and dragged out his textbooks. 

Laura nudged Derek into the kitchen while they were distracted. “I want you to go to work with Boyd tonight, that way no one’s alone.”

He nodded.

She rolled her eyes. “Go get your stuff ready. Take a phone charger so we can stay in contact.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

She shoved him, making him stumble. “Just _go_ , butthead.” 

He went.

Boyd was a little annoyed at having a babysitter, but couldn’t fault the logic, so he stayed quiet about it. 

“Are you alright?” Derek asked halfway to the hospital. 

Boyd didn’t look at him. He took an even breath. “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “It freaked me out, seeing Scott like that.”

Derek nodded.

“Reminded me of my parents.”

He nodded again.

“If I catch them, I’m going to kill them for that.” He squeezed his hands around the steering wheel, then released them one finger at a time. “He looked the same the day Sheriff Stilinski brought him to us.” His voice was quiet.

“He healed faster this time,” Derek reminded him. 

“Yeah. Doesn’t make it better.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

They split up at the hospital. Derek went to hang out in the cafeteria, waving at Boyd’s coworkers as he settled in. He took his phone out, preparing to settle in with a game or book. A text came through. He smiled when he realized it was from Stiles. 

_Why does paperwork even exist?_

The game could wait. He tapped out a quick response, then asked, _How are your bruises?_


	22. Chapter 22

Stiles got up early for his Saturday date with Derek. He had been keeping an eye on the weather all week, watching it rise steadily. By the weekend, it was unseasonably warm. He chewed his lip as he packed his cooler. He was packing a lot of food and bottled water, plus a couple cans of soda, so if the warm weather didn’t hold, he was screwed. He didn’t have a backup plan.

He rolled his eyes at himself and finished arranging the deviled eggs. 

He had a plan; Derek liked the outdoors, and he liked privacy, especially when they were together. He smirked to himself, a shiver running down his spine. Yeah, he couldn’t wait to get Derek alone by the secluded lake out in the preserve. They could take a short hike, set up near the lake, and eat lunch. Maybe make out a bit on the blanket Stiles was bringing, get distracted. Maybe risk a quick dip in the lake…

Stiles daydreamed all the way out to the Hale house. He parked outside and dug his phone out, bouncing his leg as he pulled up his text thread to Derek. Normally, he’d go knock, but he didn’t want to disturb any of Derek’s siblings, in case they were sleeping.

Derek’s reply was immediate: _Slight problem. Be right out._

Stiles felt an instant of dread, but made himself shake it off. It was probably no big deal, just a reschedule, or maybe Derek was running late. Or maybe he was going to _tell_ Stiles he wanted to reschedule and then just…not.

Stiles shook himself and got out of the jeep. This wasn’t high school. There was no reason to freak out and act like the world was ending. That was reserved for paperwork. He laughed at himself and leaned against the jeep. 

The front door opened a moment later. Derek was fully dressed, though he looked flustered. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Stiles clenched his hands to keep from reaching out.

His restraint was rendered moot three seconds later when Derek walked right up to him and grabbed him by the back of the neck, towing him in for a kiss that was just a little too thorough for a casual greeting. 

Stiles swayed back. “Um.” He licked his lips. “You said, uh, problem?”

Derek smirked, looking pleased with himself. Then he sighed and glanced back at the house. “Yeah. I know we made plans for today, but Boyd’s at work, and Laura had to go to LA for the weekend. I have to keep an eye on Isaac.”

“Oh.” Stiles blinked. “Well, we can take him with us.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I packed plenty of food.” 

“Are you sure? We can just go another time.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s gonna be pretty warm, plus that lake in the preserve is always warmer than it should be. We can swim and have a picnic and stuff.”

Derek smiled. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m sure Isaac will have fun, too.” Stiles fidgeted, then, because he couldn’t help himself, asked, “How’s he doing?”

Derek lifted a brow. “Fine. He made friends with a new girl at school and is pretty excited about that.”

Stiles nodded. “Sorry, I’ll try to stop asking.” He winced.

Derek tilted his head. “I guess it’s hard to keep things separate with a job like yours.”

He nodded, dropping his gaze. “It’s my job to care about their wellbeing,” he murmured.

“I understand.” Derek kissed his cheek, surprising him, and said, “I’ll be right back with Isaac.”

“O-okay.” He waited until Derek had gone inside to thump his head against the jeep’s hood.

Isaac seemed wary about the whole thing at first, but he didn’t say anything. He climbed into the backseat and buckled in.

Stiles considered saying something, but figured it wouldn’t be worth it: Isaac wouldn’t trust him enough to relax anyway. It was still a work in progress. 

“Do you know how to get to the lake?” Derek asked, settling into the passenger seat.

“Ummm, yes.” Stiles glanced dubiously at his phone. “Mostly.”

Derek snorted and shut the GPS app off, then dropped the phone in the cup holder. “Go left at the fork,” he ordered.

Stiles smiled.

“Where are we going?” Isaac’s question was mumbled, like he was half-hoping no one had heard.

“To the lake in the preserve. It’s out of the way,” Derek explained. “Should be deserted, even with this weather.”

“Nice.” Stiles nudged the radio on, just enough to add background noise.

Derek gave directions and told a story about his latest culinary adventure for the duration of the drive.

Isaac chortled and said, “It’s just spaghetti!” He giggled, shaking his head. “He got it _all over_ the cabinets, Laura couldn’t stop laughing. He had noodles in his hair.” 

Stiles snickered as he pulled off to the side of the dirt road he’d been following. “On foot from here?”

“Yep.” Derek glanced at the cooler. “I’ll carry that.”

Stiles snorted. “We can take turns, muscles.”

Derek kissed the corner of his mouth before he got out. 

Stiles ducked his head and smiled. As he looked up, he caught Isaac’s expression, stiff and surprised, before he scrambled out of the car. 

Stiles frowned. Had Derek not told Isaac they were dating? He was pretty sure he knew…

“Coming?”

Stiles jumped. “Hah, yeah. Sorry.” He got out, pocketing his keys. “I packed us lunch, so if you’re hungry by the time we get there, we have food.”

Derek laughed. “It’s a twenty minute walk, I think we’ll be fine.”

“Twenty _minutes?_ ” Isaac gasped. “You said we were going swimming!” 

Stiles, remembering, grabbed the towels from the jeep. 

“We are going swimming…after our walk.” Derek jostled Isaac lightly with his elbow. “It’s better than sitting at home all day, doing nothing.”

“Scott’s video games are at home.”

“What games do you play?” Stiles felt Isaac glance at him warily.

“I dunno,” he mumbled. “Just whatever Scott leaves up.”

Derek frowned at him.

Stiles tipped his head back. “I always liked _Call of Duty_ myself,” he said casually.

Isaac loosened up as they talked about games, practically bubbling over with excitement. Apparently his new friend Allison was playing with him and teaching him some tricks.

“Wow,” Isaac said when he spotted the lake.

“The water’s going to be cold,” Derek warned. 

Isaac looked up at the sky, then back at the water. He went to the single picnic table, set his phone on it, kicked off his shoes and socks, and ran for the water.

Stiles laughed. “Okay, well, we definitely have to take him to the beach this summer.”

Derek looked at him quickly.

Stiles flushed. “Um.”

“That’ll be fun,” Derek said. He went to the table and set the cooler down. “Are you going to swim?”

Stiles nodded. “I’m going to immediately regret it, but I can’t resist.”

Derek laughed. “I guess I’ll go in with you.” He tugged Stiles closer by the towels he was holding and brushed their noses together. “I can help keep you warm.”

“Hahaha, yeah, but remember Isaac. Twelve, kinda weirded out by this.” He kissed him and stepped back quickly. “Come on, let’s go freeze our asses off.” 

They had fun. Stiles could tell Isaac wasn’t sure about this shift in dynamics, but it didn’t take long for him to relax again. He grabbed Derek’s ankle and yanked him under, shrieking and laughing. He yelped when Derek caught him.

Derek, fake roaring, lifted Isaac above his head and threw him; he landed with a splash several feet away.

Stiles laughed. “You’re cute all wet.” He pushed Derek’s hair back out of his face.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. And you got dunked by a twelve-year-old, which is also cute.”

“Uh-huh.”

Isaac swam up next to Derek, wading carefully. He looked at Derek and grinned.

Derek smirked back.

They both looked at Stiles with devious grins.

Stiles tried to backpedal, but he was too slow.

They lunged at the same time; Isaac’s hands pushed at his shoulders while Derek shoved from the top of his head. He went under.

He surged up sputtering. “Okay, I see how it is.” He blinked water out of his eyes and found the two of them laughing at him. He grabbed Derek’s shoulders and pushed him under. He yelped as Derek caught his wrists and dragged him down with him. Warm lips slid across his, making his eyes pop open. 

Derek kissed him again and pushed up for the surface. 

They swam until Stiles noticed Isaac shivering.

He didn’t _want_ to get out, but he trudged after them anyway. He stripped his wet shirt off and left it to dry in the sun, then grabbed one of the towels Derek had packed. He wrapped it tightly around his shoulders. “I’m starving, can we eat yet?”

“Yep.” Stiles finished drying his hair and popped open the cooler. He started unloading everything. “No soda until after you’ve had a bottle of water.” He dug out the plates, grateful he’d been too lazy to open the package and had instead brought all of them. 

Isaac ate quickly, not even complaining about the salad. “You cook really good,” he said between bites. He grinned mischievously. “You should teach Derek.” 

“Ingrate.” Derek crunched on his chicken, looking content. 

After they’d polished off the food and cleaned up, Isaac ran back to the water. Derek and Stiles stayed back at the table, watching him splash in the shallows. 

“He seems happy,” Stiles said, unable to help himself. “He’s clearly settling in.” He glanced at Derek. “He’s particularly attached to you.”

Derek smiled. “Yeah, we have fun.” He rolled his shoulders and relaxed back against the table, stretching his legs out in front of him. “We pranked Scott the other day. He’s a useful accomplice.”

Stiles snorted. “What’d you do?’

Derek shrugged.

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m officially suspicious.”

Derek smiled innocently. “It’s just a prank.” He leaned up and kissed him, sliding a hand over the back of Stiles’s neck.

He was more than willing to be distracted. 

As they were walking back to the jeep, Derek looked at Stiles and smiled. “You should hang out at the house for a while.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. 

Stiles smiled and faced forward. “Maybe.” But he knew he was going to.

The house was still empty when they got there. Derek threw all of their clothes in the washer, lending Stiles some sweats and a t-shirt. Isaac turned on a movie on Scott’s Xbox and flopped on the couch. 

Derek collapsed next to him and held an arm out for Stiles. 

They fell asleep in minutes.

Stiles woke clamped to Derek’s side. He blinked and lifted his head, frowning, but couldn’t figure out what’d woken him. 

Derek grumbled in his sleep, head tipped back against the wall, mouth open.

Isaac had curled into him, face tucked down, hands held close to his chest, but still closer than he’d probably dared to get just two months ago.

Stiles gently extracted himself and went in search of the bathroom. Then he switched the laundry to the dryer and went back to the kitchen. He checked the time—just before six—and eyed the cabinets. 

He was halfway done with the pepperoni-sausage pasta he was cooking when the front door opened. He winced, then sighed. He probably should have asked before cooking, but he’d figured they wouldn’t mind him cooking them dinner. Apparently it was better than Derek cooking. 

“See?” someone hissed in a carrying whisper. “I told you it wasn’t Derek cooking.” 

Stiles winced again, and wished he was wearing something more. The sweatpants pooling around his bare feet made him feel ridiculous and exposed. He gulped and checked the noodles.

Scott Hale and Boyd entered the kitchen together. “Hey. That smells _amazing,_ ” Scott said brightly.

“Thanks. I, uh, I figured since Derek was asleep and my clothes were in the dryer, I’d make dinner for everybody.” 

Scott and Boyd’s brows went up, and Stiles flushed as he realized what that sounded like. 

“We went swimming, and—lake water,” he mumbled, mortified. 

“Ah.” Scott grinned. “We appreciate it. It was Derek’s turn to cook tonight, which is always like playing roulette. Do you need any help?” He went to the sink to wash his hands. 

“Um, if you want to make a salad or something for the side, that’d work. I have garlic bread in the oven.”

“Sure, what kind?”

Boyd snorted and started grabbing stuff from the fridge. 

Stiles found himself getting along with the other two Hale men just fine. He and Scott were the same age and had been in the same class in high school, so they had plenty to talk about. 

Boyd joined in a little, mocking Scott’s clumsy attempts at salad-making before nudging him out of the way to show him how to do it.

Derek came in while they were finishing up, bleary eyed and sporting bedhead. He blinked, then smiled, his whole face softening, when he saw Scott excitedly showing Stiles the tiny pile of walnuts he’d halved for the salad. 

Stiles said, “Nice,” and smiled at Derek over his shoulder. His heart flipped when he smiled back. He resisted the urge to press a hand to his chest. _Uh-oh._


	23. Chapter 23

Derek rolled onto his face, grumbling. He didn’t know what’d woken him, but he wasn’t happy about it. He burrowed his face into his pillow and sighed. It smelled weird, in a good way, sort of. He snorted and lifted his head. Heat prickled over his face. 

Stiles’s t-shirt from the day before was spread over the pillowcase. He’d forgotten it in the dryer and had worn Derek’s shirt home from dinner. 

Derek grumbled and sat up. He pushed the shirt close to the wall, embarrassed. 

Stiles could never know.

He rubbed his face and got out of bed, yawning fiercely. He stretched until his back popped, then swiped a clean shirt from his desk chair and pulled it on.

In the hallway, he found Laura pacing.

“Hey. I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.” 

She shot him a wild look. “I wasn’t, but—I don’t know, it’s weird. I couldn’t concentrate, my skin felt itchy and tight.” She waved her hands. “I finished as much as I could and used the vacation time I’ve been saving up. It’s only three weeks.” She looked around. “Did anything happen while I was gone?”

“Not really.” He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against his doorframe. 

“So why was I so anxious?” she muttered. “Fuck it, I’m going to call and see if anyone knows about hunters nearby. There should be a better network for this,” she growled. 

“Networks can be hacked.” 

“And phones can be tapped,” she shot back. “That doesn’t stop us from using them.” She shook her head. “There’s got to be _something._ ” She sighed. “I’ll be in my room, trying to find someone who knows something.” 

Derek shrugged and went to the kitchen. He was eating cereal when Isaac came down.

He was dressed—he never came down for a meal in pajamas, not even on weekends for breakfast, and Derek would’ve admired this if he hadn’t realized it was probably something Isaac’s father had enforced—and seemed jittery. “Can I have some?”

Derek pushed the box of cereal across the table at him.

“Stiles is a good cook,” he said apropos of nothing. He grabbed a bowl and spoon and got to work pouring himself some of the cereal. “We should ask him to come back again.”

“Maybe.” Derek kept his face down toward his own bowl. He didn’t want to admit how much he’d enjoyed the night before, his brothers and Stiles all getting along, laughing and sharing a meal together. He fit right in, and Derek couldn’t seem to get it out of his head. 

“Are we gonna be stuck here all day? Or can we go swimming again?” Isaac asked as he carefully poured his milk. He watched it closely, much more closely than Derek ever bothered to. 

“We’re not going swimming again, but we’ll find something to do.” It’d be good to distract himself for a while, keep him from doing something stupid, like calling or texting Stiles and seeing if he wanted to hang out with them. He was just being responsible. He couldn’t get too attached. It wasn’t like he was saying in Beacon Hills forever. He jolted to his feet. “We’re going to the mall,” he announced. He dumped his bowl in the sink. He always poured too much milk. 

Isaac gave him a strange look. “Okay…”

The mall was packed. Derek should have figured it would be. It was a sunny, warm weekend. He looked at the crowds, then down at Isaac, and sighed. They went in.

“Why’re we here?” Isaac asked. He glanced at the lingerie store to their left and then away quickly, turning red.

Derek sincerely hoped he’d already had The Talk, although if it had been given by his abusive father or left to the public school system, he probably needed it again. Derek made a mental note to get Boyd to do it. He was a doctor. It’d be better coming from him.

Or maybe Scott, though he’d probably end up using animals for examples and confusing Isaac. 

Yeah, Derek was definitely passing that responsibility to Boyd. 

“We’re here to find you a hobby,” Derek decided.

“A hobby? Why?” He looked horrified. 

“So you have something to do when you’re bored.”

“I could do chores,” he mumbled.

“You _have_ chores.”

“I could do more.” He avoided Derek’s gaze. “I would be out of your way. I used to do a lot more chores. I can clean the gutters and organize the basement ’n stuff.” 

Derek’s heart skipped a beat, imagining him on the roof. He thought a long stream of curses at Isaac’s father. “Well, the gutters are one of my chores. And we split them between all of us, so you don’t need to take anymore. We’re going to find some _fun_ hobbies.”

“Video games.”

“Some _other_ fun hobbies. You don’t have to stick with them if you don’t like them,” he added. “But at least try them for a little while.”

Isaac was quiet a moment as he considered. “Will you try them with me?”

Derek looked down at him. “Yeah. Let’s pick two things.”

“One each?”

“Sure.” 

Isaac pointed at the sporting goods store to their right.

“Perfect.” 

Isaac chose basketball, which was a good choice, Derek thought. If he ended up not liking it, they could donate the hoop Derek ordered to a youth center. They bought all sorts of supplies that Derek didn’t know they’d need, and left satisfied and a little shell-shocked at how fast they’d blown through Derek’s budget. He had more, but he’d been trying to be _responsible._

“Okay, your turn.” Isaac looked eager, gaze darting to the stores around them.

Derek spotted a craft store and chuckled, remembering his conversation with Stiles. Then he glanced down at Isaac speculatively. Having something quiet to do might not be a bad idea. “Come on.” He marched determinedly to the craft store.

It was quiet inside, so Derek didn’t feel bad finding an employee and asking for help. A lot of help. “We want to learn how to knit, both of us, so we’re going to need everything you have for beginners.” He grabbed a cart. 

She blinked, startled, then smiled. “Sure! We’ve got beginner’s kits that should cover most of it, and I can show you some other stuff that might be helpful.”

“Perfect. Lead the way.” He glanced at Isaac and found him looking mortified. “What?” he asked as they followed the saleswoman.

“Knitting?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“My dad…” He looked at the wall of yarn they were passing, shoulders tensing. “My dad says this stuff is only for girls.” He touched one of the skeins nearest him, fingers brushing over the multicolored strands. He yanked his hand away when he noticed Derek watching. 

Derek grabbed the skein and tossed it into the cart. “Yarn has no gender. Pick another.” He caught the saleswoman smiling at him and flushed. 

As they were checking out, the woman, whose name was Mira, scribbled something on a slip of blank receipt paper. “Here’s some online resources, too. I know some people find it easier to learn from videos,” she added. “Is he your…” She looked stumped.

“My brother. We’re finding hobbies that aren’t video games. Thanks for your help,” he added with a smile.

She blinked and smiled back, looking a little stunned. “You’re welcome. Here you go.” She handed him his bags and the paper.

Isaac was quiet until they got to the car. “She liked you.”

“Huh?”

“The craft lady. She liked you.” He rolled his eyes. “ _Liked_ you liked you.” 

Derek scoffed. “No, she didn’t.”

Isaac waved the receipt with the video resources on it above his head. “She put her phone number under the websites.” 

Derek took the paper. He scowled, because Isaac was right—Mira had written her number and “Call me?” under the websites. “Right.” He ripped her number off and crumpled it, then stuffed it in his pocket so he could throw it away when he got to a trash can. 

“What would _Stiles_ think?” Isaac snickered. He sobered quickly. “Are we really gonna learn to knit?”

“Yep. We’ll try it for a while, and if you don’t like it, we’ll try something else.”

“How long?”

Derek frowned. “Give it a month.”

“Okay.” He dug through their knitting supplies, examining everything as he climbed into the car.

They spent the afternoon starting their knitting projects. They couldn’t start basketball until the hoop came in. Also probably Derek would have to find a place to put it that wasn’t gravel or grass, but he didn’t want to think of that yet. Impulsivity usually paid out a little better for him. He was thinking this time it might not.

So they practiced knitting in the dining room, following the instructions step-by-step. 

Isaac was having an easier time with it than Derek, whose fingers kept somehow getting tangled in the yarn. He also seemed to be enjoying himself, especially when he realized he was faster than Derek. 

“That looks fun,” Scott commented as he entered the dining room. “Can you show me?”

Isaac nodded eagerly.

“Here, you can use mine while I go to the bathroom.” Derek passed over his knotted mess and stood. He heard Isaac snickering as he walked away, but chose to ignore it. He checked his phone after washing his hands. 

Stiles had texted. _Wanna go out to dinner tonight?_

He should say no. No, he was busy. Maybe later. Put some distance between them. He sighed and responded. _Yeah. What time?_


	24. Chapter 24

Later, Derek found himself in Stiles’s bed, talking about his day while idly tracing the freckles and moles on Stiles’s back. They’d eaten quickly at the diner, then rushed to Stiles’s apartment. Stiles had spent the drive telling Derek about what he’d originally _wanted_ to do while they were at the lake. It had been…distracting. 

“You bought a full sized basketball hoop?” Stiles laughed, burying his face in his pillow. “Do you even have pavement anywhere for him to use it?”

Derek scowled. “Well…no.” 

Stiles laughed more. “Where were you going to put it?”

“I’ll think of something!” When Stiles kept laughing, he leaned forward and bit his shoulder, making him jump. He leaned back, smug. 

Stiles turned over and pushed him onto his back. “That was very sweet of you. I’m sure Isaac loved it.” 

“I think he’s excited about it.”

“I think you probably need to go to Lowe’s.” Stiles grinned and swept his hands over Derek’s chest. “They can give you some tips about setting up a court without having to do concrete.” He leaned down and bit at Derek’s pec, just a light nip, then moved down his stomach.

“Uh-huh. Lowe’s. Got it.” Derek watched his progress, kneading at the sheets to keep himself still. 

“What other thing did you choose? Another sport?”

“Huh?”

Stiles smirked at him, grazing his teeth against his hip. “You told me you each chose something for you both to try. Basketball is one…”

Derek blinked, trying to clear the lust hazing his brain. “Ah…knitting.”

Stiles sat up. “What?”

“What?” He lifted a brow. “I told you I would.”

Stiles’s eyes did some acrobats before settling on a sort of wide eyed look of concern. “A twelve-year-old. Knitting.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know, Isaac really likes it so far. And he isn’t bad at it, either.”

“Huh.” Stiles stared into space for a second. He shook himself a little. “Well, good for him. I’m glad he likes it.” He smiled a little shyly. “I never would have been able to hold still and do that when I was his age.”

“I think you concentrate pretty well on your tasks now. Mostly.”

He snickered. “Was that a hint?” He rubbed a palm over Derek’s thigh.

He flushed. “No, I didn’t mean-”

“I’m sure.” Stiles winked and leaned down. “Tell me about your knitting,” he suggested, nipping his thigh.

Derek swore at him.

They curled up together under the blankets after, drowsy and sated. Derek knew he should get up. He couldn’t stay the night. He considered finding his phone and setting an alarm, but Stiles’s cheek was pressed against his chest, fist curled loosely against his ribs, and he couldn’t disturb him. His eyes drifted closed. He’d just take a quick nap, then he’d get dressed and go home. 

A beeping sound woke him abruptly. The scent of smoke made his heart slam against his ribs. Panicked, he lurched out of bed, knocking Stiles aside. 

He sat up. “What? Wha’s wrong?” His eyes weren’t quite open.

Derek’s breath got caught somewhere in his throat. The beeping was a smoke detector in another apartment. He tried to inhale, tried to figure out if the smoke was a fire spreading to the other apartments or burned food, but he couldn’t seem to get a breath either way. 

Stiles’s heartbeat picked up. “Derek? You okay?”

Derek’s shoulders shuddered. He blinked and hunched over as he realized his eyes had shifted, fangs pushing at his lips. 

Stiles approached slowly. 

Derek tucked his arms around himself, hiding his clawed fingertips from sight. He forced himself to take a breath and gagged on smoke. 

“Derek, hey. What’s…” Stiles stopped. He was hovering nearby, like he was scared to get too close. “Can I…help?” He sounded worried and confused.

Derek made himself shake his head, but he couldn’t force words past his throat. 

Fingers lightly touched his shoulder, then pressed down more firmly when he relaxed. “That’s just number 759. They like cooking at night, and they’re really bad at it.” He moved closer, putting both of his hands on Derek’s shoulders. 

Derek wheezed and buried his face against the side of Stiles’s neck. He inhaled deeply, clearing the stench of smoke with Stiles’s scent. He clung to him.

Stiles didn’t seem to mind. He put his arms around him and waited. 

Eventually, Derek managed to pull his fear back. He swallowed and straightened up. “Um, sorry.”

Stiles shook his head. “Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Scared you.” His face was clammy, which was embarrassing. 

“No—well, yeah, a little bit. But only because I didn’t know what was going on.” His gaze flicked over Derek’s face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shrugged jerkily. “There isn’t much to say. My birth family died in a house fire when I was eight and Laura was twelve. I didn’t know that, um, that would happen.” He had vague memories of being jumpy about fire alarms and smoke as a kid, but mostly he’d been angry and scared. Angry that hunters had taken away his parents, uncles, aunts, and cousins, angry at Talia for trying to replace them, at Laura for trying to comfort him. Scared that someone would find out it was his fault.

“I see,” Stiles said evenly.

Derek sighed and went back to the bed. He sat on the edge. “I don’t really…all we know is that it was arson, and that, besides me, Laura was the only one who made it out.”

Stiles sat beside him. “I’m sorry that happened.” He glanced at Derek’s face. “Have you ever had a panic attack before?” he asked gently.

“No.” He was pretty sure. One time during a fire drill at school he’d broken two floor tiles trying to ground himself, until Laura had come and dragged him outside. He frowned. He’d forgotten about that. “At least, not that I remember. It was a long time ago.” He moved his shoulders. 

A few apartments away, the beeping stopped, as did the frantic cursing and flapping. 

“Okay.” Stiles squeezed his hand, which Derek hadn’t realized he was holding. “Do you want anything?”

Derek thought. “Ice cream.”

Stiles smiled. “I have Moose Tracks.”

They ate in the kitchen. Derek hopped up on the counter while Stiles leaned next to him, both of them eating out of the carton. Derek winced when he saw the time. Four in the morning. 

Stiles noticed. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I have to go soon. I’m taking Isaac to school in the morning.” 

“Ah.” He took another bite of ice cream before sealing it back up and putting it away. “Well, you should probably get dressed, I guess. Might cause a pile up.” He hooked a finger in the waistband of Derek’s boxers and tugged it lightly. He smiled.

Derek leaned down and kissed him; his mouth was cold and a little sticky from the ice cream, but he didn’t care. “Thanks.”

Stiles smiled again, heavy eyed. “Anytime.” 

Derek forced himself to stay awake when he got home, despite being exhausted. He took a cold shower, dressed, and brushed his teeth. By the time he finished, Isaac was awake and getting ready for school with all the grace and stealth of a drunken elephant. 

Derek grabbed two of the breakfast sandwiches Scott had put together the night before and microwaved them while he waited.

Isaac thumped downstairs a few minutes after they finished warming. He eyed them. “Can I start packing a lunch?”

Derek looked at the time. “Today?”

“No, but for the rest of the year.” He shoved half a sandwich in his mouth.

“Sure, if you want. Why?” he asked abruptly. “Do you need more lunch money on your account? Do they not give you enough food?”

Isaac shook his head, chewing quickly. “Allison brings her lunch, and if I bring mine, we have more time to talk about strategy and stuff.”

“Ah. Well, you can start packing lunches tomorrow. Grab your backpack.” 

He finished the first sandwich, slung his bag over his shoulder, and grabbed the second. “Can I get a-”

Derek held out the mini carton of orange juice he’d grabbed from the fridge. 

“Thanks. Are we going the long way?” he asked eagerly.

Derek smirked. “Yeah, we’ll go the long way. But we have to leave now if we want to get there in time.”

Isaac ran for the front door. He was already buckling into the front seat by the time Derek caught up to him. 

Derek took long backroads to the middle school. They were almost always deserted, which was why he took them. He pressed the gas, coaxing more speed from the Camaro, more, pushing it as fast as he dared and then just a little faster. 

Beside him, Isaac watched the trees whip past, laughing to himself.

Derek rolled the windows down so they could feel the wind whipping by and grinned. 

Isaac hissed, “ _Yes!_ ”

When they hit a more populated road, Derek slowed down grudgingly. 

Isaac watched the speedometer tick down avidly. He looked at Derek’s face and picked at the remnants of his sandwich. “Are you gonna start racing again?”

Derek glanced at him, then back at the road. “Yeah.” He shrugged. “Eventually. When everything is…calm.”

Isaac nodded slowly, and then they were at the school.

Derek thought about the question after Isaac had gone into school. He meant it. Really. He was going back to racing once hunters weren’t trying to kill them any longer. He wasn’t ready to quit.

He thought, suddenly, of Stiles, of his expression when Derek finished kissing him, of him laughing in the kitchen with Scott and Boyd. 

“Fuck.”


	25. Chapter 25

Stiles was on the phone with Kimmy Rowe, reassuring her that, yes, his face was all better, when Lydia sent him a message to call his father. His heart lurched, but he kept his voice even. Once he’d gotten off the phone, he called John. “Dad, are you-”

“ _I’m fine,_ ” he cut in. “ _This is a business call. Roger Lahey escaped from jail sometime this morning._ ”

“Oh, god.” Stiles stood, swiping his keys from his desk. “I have to go-”

“ _Wait. There’s more._ ” John inhaled. “ _Rafael McCall escaped from prison yesterday. I got the call just before the one about Lahey._ ”

“McCall…that’s Scott’s father?”

“ _Yes. He was doing life for murdering his wife and nearly killing his son._ ”

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath.

“ _There’s a manhunt for them already. I’m going to tell the Hales-_ ”

“I’ll do it.” Stiles cleared his throat. “I’ve gotten close with them. It’ll be…easier, coming from me.”

“ _Alright. We’re making arrangements right now to have some deputies watching the house at all times. We’re reasonably sure they’re going to go after the Hales. Them escaping within hours of each other can’t be a coincidence._ ”

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll let you know once I’ve told them.” He went to Lydia’s office as soon as he was off the phone. “Lydia, I-”

“Go. Take a personal day.” She looked tense, eyes shadowed. “You’re going to tell them, right?”

He nodded.

“Okay. Just—Stiles, be careful.”

“I will. They don’t even know me. Well, McCall doesn’t,” he corrected, frowning. “Lahey I met a couple times while I was working with Isaac.”

Lydia sighed. “Yeah, I know. But they’re both dangerous.” She picked up a pen, then set it down again. “They’re going to be very upset.”

“I know. I have to go,” he added. “Thank you.”

It was four thirty when Stiles made it to the Hale house. It looked like they were all home. Even Boyd’s car was in the driveway. Stiles swallowed and got out of his car. He paused and made sure his hair was flat, shirt buttoned, tie straight. He was here officially, as Isaac’s social worker. At least for the first bit.

Laura Hale answered the door with a big grin. “Mr. Stilinski, hi—what’s wrong?” Her expression faltered. “What’s going on?” Her grip on the door spasmed. 

Stiles swallowed. “Can I come in? I need to talk to all of you.” 

“Is—are we okay?” She looked over her shoulder. “Does this has to do with custody?”

“It isn’t a custody issue, but it is urgent.”

She nodded and stepped aside. “Come in. Everyone’s in the dining room.” 

Stiles wiped his palms on his pants and followed Laura through the living room. He spotted a new alarm system on the wall and let out a quiet breath. At least they had something.

Scott and Isaac were at the table, trying to show Derek what he was doing wrong with his knitting project. Boyd was in the kitchen cooking and watching Derek fight with multicolored yarn.

Derek looked up as Stiles walked in, a smile coming to his lips. “Hey.”

“Hi.” 

“Should Isaac…” Laura trailed off.

Stiles shook his head. “It has to do with him, too.”

Derek’s brows furrowed. “What’s going on?” He set the yarn and knitting needles down.

Across the table from him, Scott and Isaac did the same.

“I got a call when I was at work, from my dad.” He couldn’t do it. He looked at the yarn on the table. “Roger Lahey and Rafael McCall escaped from prison. The police are searching for them, and Beacon County deputies are arranging to watch the house,” he said quickly. He chanced looking at them. He couldn’t handle it, could barely watch as the news crashed over them.

Scott went sheet white, gripping the edge of the table. He looked younger than thirty, fear shrinking him.

Isaac’s eyes looked glassy. His breath stuttered with each inhale. “My dad,” he croaked. “He’s coming? He’s out?”

“No,” Derek said sharply. “He won’t get near you.” He looked at Scott and grimaced. “Neither of them will.”

Boyd went to Scott, leaning over him and murmuring in his ear.

Scott shook his head.

Boyd put his hand on his shoulder and straightened. “When did they escape?”

“McCall was yesterday. Lahey this morning.”

“This _morning?_ ” Laura exploded. “Why the fuck did it take this long for us to find out?!”

“Laura-” Derek growled.

“No! I want to know. We should have been informed immediately.”

Stiles nodded. “I agree. McCall was being held in a high security prison out of state, and Lahey was in the county jail. It was likely only because my father had called to check about them recently that they knew to call him at all.”

Laura seemed to deflate. “Alright.”

Isaac shoved away from the table and ran upstairs. 

Derek stood. He glanced at Scott, then at the stairs.

Boyd nodded.

Derek followed Isaac upstairs.

Scott slowly looked up from the table. “Did they say…I mean, do they know if…”

“They aren’t going to get close. Dad’s already sending deputies here.”

Scott nodded, his gaze dropping again.

Stiles, feeling awful and helpless, went to the kitchen. He spotted the food Boyd had been preparing, recipe laid out neatly on the counter. He went to the sink and washed his hands. 

Derek and Isaac returned as Stiles was pulling the chicken out of the oven. Isaac’s eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and Stiles felt his heart crack.

He swallowed and turned to the food. He grabbed plates and started dishing out vegetables while the chicken rested. 

Derek gave him an unreadable look as he brought the laden plates out, two at a time. 

“You guys should eat,” he explained, embarrassed. 

“Thank you,” Laura said. She looked embarrassed, too. “Sorry for snapping. I just…”

“I know. It’s alright. Here.” He set a plate in front of her and went to get more. He spent an hour cajoling the five Hales to eat, until most of their plates were clean. He pretended not to see Isaac knuckling away tears or Scott staring out the window, wire-tense, as if he expected to see someone out there. “I’m going to head out,” he said once he’d cleared the table and packed away the leftovers. “I’m really-” He cleared his throat. “Keep the doors and windows locked.” He left while they were all still sitting at the table. He paused at his car, rubbing his eyes. God. The looks on their faces had been…

Stiles had seen worse. He had. But he’d never been this close before. Maybe that was a mistake, but he couldn’t regret it. 

“Hey.” Derek jogged up to him. “Thank you for telling us. I know Sheriff Stilinski was probably going to.”

Stiles swallowed. “I thought it might be better coming from me,” he said quietly.

Derek touched his arm, running his fingers down to his hand. “Thank you.” He glanced over his shoulder.

“Go on inside,” Stiles told him.

He grimaced. “I’m sorry about Laura. She was just upset.” He looked at the house again. “I’m sorry, I have to…”

Stiles caught his hand and squeezed. “It’s okay. I get it. You need to be with your family right now.” He smiled at him and got into the car, rolling the window down. “Go. Your brothers need you.”

“Stiles,” Derek began, then closed his mouth and shook his head. He leaned down and kissed him, holding his chin. Then he leaned back a little to brush his thumb over Stiles’s bottom lip. “I’ll call you,” he murmured, and walked away.


	26. Chapter 26

Derek and Scott rarely left the house unless they had to, six days after Stiles had broken the news. Scott was still on medical leave from work, but he was much less worried about it now. The deputies watching the house checked in every six hours, when their shifts ended and new ones came on. 

Laura hadn’t left the house _at all_. She’d promptly quit her job when they told her they wanted her back in LA during all this. She’d also submitted an application and her résumé to the Beacon Gazette. She’d said she was taking it over, and that anyone who didn’t like it could fight her.

Isaac was a mess. He was jumpy and withdrawn, lashing out unexpectedly over random things, or being extremely, weepily apologetic about everything. 

Derek hated how fearful he and Scott were. He hated that Scott wasn’t sleeping unless he passed out in the living room with whoever he’d been watching TV with, and he hated that Isaac checked every window and door before he went to bed. 

“I think they ran for the border,” Laura muttered.

Derek shook his head. “They’re coming. There’s no way they _somehow_ escaped within hours of each other without it being planned. They didn’t even know each other.”

Laura glowered. “Then what are they _waiting for?_ ”

He shot her a look.

She bared her teeth. “Don’t act like you aren’t antsy, too. Wouldn’t you rather know what they’re doing than be on edge? Just waiting for them to show up?” She snapped her mouth closed, and a second later, Scott came out of the upstairs bathroom.

He eyed them as he descended the stairs, drying his hair. “I’m not gonna break,” he muttered. 

Laura scoffed and dragged him into a headlock.

Derek looked away. He knew Scott was stronger now, but Derek had seen him when he’d first arrived, and it really _was_ like he was broken.

He’d been skinny, all elbows and knees, and so beat up it’d looked like he’d survived a wreck.

Sheriff Stilinski had taken him to the hospital and called Talia. 

She’d dragged Boyd and Derek out of bed and they’d all gone. 

Scott had to be sedated while they set his broken arm, stitched his cheek up. 

So, no, he wasn’t going to break, but Derek had seen him broken already. He didn’t want to see it again.

Laura hadn’t been there in the beginning. She’d come home after his cast was off, after most of the bruises had faded and the stitches had been removed. She knew they’d been there, but she hadn’t seen them. “I’m going to get groceries,” she said. She let go of Scott, having thoroughly ruffled his hair, and straightened her shirt. “I need to get out of the house, and we’re running out of food. Boyd’s working, he can’t get them.” She poked her phone. “I made a list, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Do you want us to come with you?”

“Nah.” She shook her head. “Just stay here and stay together.”

“Yeah.” 

Scott wandered to the living room.

Laura watched him go with a worried expression. She looked at Derek, brows furrowed. 

He shrugged and shook his head. 

She sighed. “I’ll be back soon.”

Derek went to the living room.

Scott had curled up in a corner of the couch, staring out the bay window behind the TV. 

Derek sat on the other side. “We aren’t going to let him near you.”

Scott looked over slowly. “I was just thinking how weird it is that he and Isaac’s dad both escaped. _He_ was in a high security prison, because of his job before…so it was a big…” He swallowed, gaze traveling back to the window. “I was thinking maybe they’re working with the hunters.”

Fear gripped Derek. He tried to deny it—to tell Scott that was impossible and crazy, but…It made entirely too much sense. 

Hunters had connections. How hard would it be for them to break someone out of prison? And Lahey had just been in the county jail. 

He looked at Scott, hollowed with terror.

Scott quirked a half smile. “Both our worst fears working together.”

Derek nodded, nauseated. 

Scott moved closer, then laid down, putting his head on Derek’s leg. He used to do that a lot when he was about fourteen, just curl up with whoever was nearest. 

Laura and Talia never minded, and Boyd was always endlessly patient and just worked around him.

It’d always been Derek who’d been irritated, jittery, hated being pinned down. He felt bad for it now. 

They were both dozing when a car rolled up the driveway.

Scott bolted upright, his heart pounding.

Derek grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. “It’s okay. Stay here, I’ll go check.”

He nodded, hands flexing beside his legs.

Derek went to the door, listening, but all he could hear was an engine and the radio. He stepped out onto the porch. He sighed when he saw Stiles’s sedan. He hadn’t seen him since the day he’d told them about McCall and Lahey; they’d texted a little, but Derek was preoccupied with keeping his brothers calm.

Stiles had seemed distracted, too, and apologetic about it, citing work as a reason.

It was nice to see him, but Derek couldn’t help but wonder if he was safer away from them, at least until the hunters were gone. 

Stiles got out of the car, lifting a hand in a wave. He was dressed for work, though his tie was crooked and a little loose, hair disheveled. He had a manila envelope in his right hand.

Derek waved back. He turned his head, hearing Scott hovering near the closed door. He muttered, “Just Stiles.”

Scott sighed, relieved, and went back to the couch.

“Hey.” Stiles stopped at the bottom of the porch. He looked anxious and tired, worrying at the envelope with his thumb.

“Hey.” Derek held his hand out.

Stiles sighed and took it, joining him on the porch. “How’s Isaac doing?”

Derek shrugged stiffly. “He’s scared, but we’re watching out for him.” 

Stiles nodded. “I’m not surprised. He’s been through a lot.”

“Uh-huh.”

He swallowed. “I think he might benefit from therapy. I have a list of doctors who I think-”

“He doesn’t need therapy,” Derek cut in, trying not to scoff. 

Stiles blinked at him, then straightened his shoulders. “He could benefit from having someone to talk-”

“He has us,” Derek bit out. “He doesn’t need someone asking him about what his father did to him and upsetting him.”

Stiles glared at him. “Therapy can do a lot of good, and I think Isaac would feel a lot better, having someone to talk to. Someone who he doesn’t live with, someone he doesn’t care about upsetting or disappointing.”

“We can handle it,” Derek snapped. “We’ll help him. He doesn’t need _therapy._ ”

A look crossed Stiles’s face, hurt and angry at once. “He is twelve-years-old,” he began.

“Look, if you only came over to tell us that we aren’t enough and can’t take care of our brother, then maybe you should just go.”

Stiles reared back, cheeks flushing like he’d been hit. “I came over because I was _worried_ about all of you. I care about you.” He shook his head, the sting of hurt in his scent clouding the air. “You know what? Forget it.” The envelope hit the porch with a _slap_ at Derek’s feet, and Stiles left, stalking to his car. The door slammed.

Derek’s fists curled at his sides until claws pierced his palms.

After Stiles’s car was long gone, Scott came outside. “I think you fucked up,” he said quietly. He picked up the envelope, weighing it in his hands. “That was cruel,” he added. 

Derek muttered, “I don’t want to talk,” and went into the house.

Scott followed him. 

Stiles and the envelope were both driven from his mind by the time Isaac got home. He was pale and quiet as he did his homework. He went straight to his room afterward and closed the door. He wouldn’t come back out for dinner or even dessert. Worry curled in Derek’s chest. 

He sat outside of Isaac’s room for a little while, listening to the way he tried to muffle the sound of his sobs, smelling the fear that seeped out from under the door.

Derek went down to his room after a while and saw that Scott had set the envelope on his bed. He rubbed his face and grabbed it, growling to himself. He used a claw to slice it open.

Pamphlets and business cards spilled out, along with several pages of notes handwritten by Stiles about each therapist and program he’d recommended. Not all of them were for Isaac. One had a star next to it, followed by Stiles’s explanation. 

_She’s very good,_ he’d written, _in case you felt like you wanted to talk to someone. She helped me through my mom’s death and other stuff._

Derek cursed under his breath. So Scott was right. Maybe he had been cruel. He moved all the information to his desk for later and crawled into bed. With Stiles mad at him, at least he was well out of the hunters’ crosshairs.


	27. Chapter 27

Stiles tossed his keys on his desk, followed by the fresh copies of the Serrano file he’d just made for Lydia and his own safekeeping. The keys skidded, knocking into the folder next to his keyboard. His mouth tightened. 

He was so furious at Derek for Wednesday that he couldn’t articulate it. He shoved his chair back and sat down, snorting. How _dare_ Derek treat him like—like he was anything but concerned about them, like he was threat. And how _dare_ he dismiss Isaac’s trauma! 

Stiles growled to himself while organizing his files and sorting his emails. 

What would Derek know about what Isaac had been through? He hadn’t been there, he hadn’t been the one who’d had to look into Isaac’s bruised face and listen to him lie about falling, even while he had a hand-shaped bruise on his arm. 

Stiles took a deep breath, flexing his shoulders. He made himself swallow his anger before grabbing the folder his keys had knocked into. He flipped it open. 

After Derek had told Stiles about the fire, he’d asked John if he could look at the file. He hadn’t thought he’d find anything, since there’d been a whole investigation when it’d happened, but he thought…maybe. John was willing to share, mostly because he’d been looking into it again himself. 

So far, all Stiles knew for sure was that it was arson, and that Derek and Laura were somehow the only survivors. Eleven others had died. 

Stiles slid his finger along the report. Apparently, Laura and Derek’s surname used to be Samuels before they changed it legally to Hale when they were fourteen and ten, respectively. 

Stiles scrubbed his face, frustrated. He knew Derek felt guilty about the fire. He’d wanted to help him. 

Of course, Derek thought he was _above_ therapy, so maybe helping him was impossible.

Stiles leaned back in his chair, frustrated. 

“Take a break, Stilinski!” Lydia called. “You aren’t supposed to be here for another half hour, anyway!”

“And you were supposed to come in when?” he replied.

She was silent.

“Yeah,” he muttered. He looked back at the file, flipping past the arson report to the suspect interviews. 

Apparently they’d questioned several people, most prominently a man named Gerry Andrews. They couldn’t pin anything to him, and he’d been from out of town, claimed to have been alone at his hotel at the time, but no one bought it. He’d disappeared the minute they’d had to let him go. 

Stiles lifted the picture, studying Gerry Andrews. 

Middle aged, bald, smirking at the camera. Something hard and mean in his eyes. 

A hand reached over his shoulder and closed the file. “Walk me to the break room. I brought muffins and you should eat.”

Stiles sighed and slipped the photo back into the file. He stood and fell in step beside her. “Thanks,” he said at length. 

“Well, you have a meeting in an hour. Can’t have you looking like the crypt keeper.”

He rolled his eyes. “Who am I meeting with? I’m pretty sure all my kids are accounted for next week-”

“Not a kid.” Lydia opened the door to the breakroom and held it for him. “It’s a welfare meeting for the senior outreach we’re doing. I told you about this last week. Everyone will be getting assigned at least one senior citizen case.”

“Lydia, I’m trained for-”

She shot him a sharp look. “I know. Everyone who is trained for family and child social work will be getting assigned light cases, to shoulder some of the workload that the gerontological department has accumulated. That’ll give them the room to focus on the tougher cases.”

Stiles nodded. “Alright. What time is the meeting?” 

She waved this away. “It’s at nine, conference room B. I’ve compiled everything you need into a folder, you’ll read it before then.

“Thank you.”

“It’s my job.” She jabbed at the coffeemaker until it sputtered to life. She wrinkled her nose. 

“One day that thing is going to bite you back.”

“I wait with bated breath.” She glared at it. “Grab a muffin.” She pointed at the box she’d set up. “There’s enough for everyone to have two.”

“You’re a goddess.”

“I am,” she agreed.

Stiles took a muffin and leaned against the counter, waiting with Lydia for the coffee to finish. 

He was set up and ready by 8:45, grateful that Lydia had scheduled the meeting in a conference room rather than outside of the office. He had a legal pad, pens, and a general idea of what he was getting into when there was a brief knock, followed by the door opening.

The woman who stepped in was wearing dark jeans and a white shirt under a red jacket, heeled boots clicking sharply against the tile. She smiled. “Are you Mr. Stilinski?” She swept her gaze over him without waiting for an answer. “You’re pretty young for a social worker.”

His answering smile felt stiff. “Oh, I’m sure there are a few younger than me. Shall we get started?” 

“Sure.” She closed the door behind her and sat down, pushing her blonde hair behind her shoulders and leaning back in her chair. 

“So, Miss Argent, I’ve heard from my supervisor that you have some concerns about your elderly father.”

“You can call me Kate,” she said sweetly. “And yes, I’m worried about him.”

Stiles waited a beat, then prompted, “Can you elaborate on your concerns?”

“Sure.” She crossed her legs and leaned an elbow on the table, lounging in her chair. “My dad’s getting up there, you know, but he’s _super_ independent, and I wouldn’t want to make him feel like he’s having his freedom stripped away.”

Stiles nodded. “Understandable.”

“But he’s also having trouble getting where he needs to go, he gets confused, he can’t open his medication by himself…Just little stuff that adds up over time.”

“I understand.”

Kate nodded. “And it’s not like I can be with him all day. I’ve got a job and other responsibilities.”

“Yes, it’s difficult to find a balance.” Stiles grabbed some of the materials he’d brought, relieved that this seemed to be an easy fix. “There are options, with different levels of care that you can choose from. I would suggest calling around and meeting with these three.” He set three business cards in front of her. “They take most insurances and if they don’t take your father’s, I’m sure we can work something out with them. They’re usually willing to work with us.”

“Hmm.” She picked up one of the pamphlets, skimming her fingers down the side. “I guess I’ll call this one first. He doesn’t like admitting he needs help. I’m sure he’s going to hate having someone come help him. Parents can be a pain,” she sighed. 

Stiles offered her a tight smile. “It must be hard, not being able to do things that were always a given before.”

She backpedaled with, “Oh, I know. I feel terrible for him. He just makes things harder than they need to be.” 

“Hmm.” Stiles felt his phone go off, three insistent and noisy buzzes, and grimaced, reaching down to silence it.

Kate batted her lashes. “Wife calling to check in?” Her gaze darted to his left hand. “Or girlfriend?”

Stiles felt his skin crawl. “Neither. Now, if you’re looking for assisted living, there are options for that, too. Here’s one I would recommend for people who don’t need constant supervision but may need help during odd hours.”

It went on for about an hour, with Kate sprinkling in personal questions, like where Stiles was from and what he liked to do in his off time. He was used to people making conversation during meetings when they felt uncomfortable with the topic, but it seemed excessive to him. Of course, he was used to dealing with children and their guardians. Maybe that was why it seemed strange. 

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Stilinski,” Kate said as she was leaving.

Stiles was walking her to the elevator because he _always_ walked his cases to the elevator. He sort of wished he didn’t, at the moment. “It’s no trouble. If you have any problems, you’re more than welcome to call and we’ll help you sort it out.”

She put her hand on his arm and squeezed. “Thank you so much.” She let go as the elevator dinged open. “See you,” she said, stepping in as someone else was stepping out. 

Stiles looked up automatically and felt his shoulders jerk.

Derek looked exhausted. “Can I talk to you?”

“There isn’t much left to say,” he replied stiffly. “You told me what you thought Wednesday.”

“Stiles, please. Can we just…” He looked behind Stiles and hitched on a fake smile.

Stiles glanced back and saw some coworkers watching them. He sighed. “Come on,” he muttered. He turned on his heel and marched back to the conference room he’d just used with Kate. 

Derek’s sigh was quiet and relieved.

Closed in the conference room, away from prying eyes, Stiles felt his anger bubble back up from where he’d shoved it. “If you’re here to tell me _more_ about how therapy is stupid, you picked a bad time. I am at work and I don’t want to argue here.”

Derek nodded. “I know. I just—I thought we could grab lunch or something, and talk about this.”

“I have work to do.” He shook his head. “Isaac _needs_ someone to talk to. Just because _you’re_ too close-minded to acknowledge that doesn’t mean _he_ should suffer-”

“Stop!” Derek took a deep breath and held his hands out. “I read the stuff you left.” 

Stiles’s cheeks burned, remembering the personal notes he’d left along with the information packet he’d put together for them. 

“I’m sorry about your mother,” he said softly.

“It was a long time ago. I never said I didn’t think you could take care of him,” Stiles added, frustrated all over again. “But you guys can’t give him everything he needs.” He crossed his arms.

“I know,” Derek said. “Look, can I just—I came to tell you I was wrong. Laura’s picking a therapist for Isaac.”

Stiles nodded. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad.” He didn’t know what else to say, how to say that Derek’s words and harsh dismissal had hurt him. The way Derek had looked at him like a trespasser, someone to guard against…it had hurt. 

“Stiles,” he sighed, looking miserable.

“Don’t. I got the message.” He made a circle in the air with his finger. “Circle of trust, Hales inside, Stiles out. You think I don’t _know_ what you were doing? ‘Shit, social worker’s here.’ I got it.” 

Derek made a low, rough noise and stepped closer. “That _isn’t_ what happened!”

“Isn’t it? You just wanted me to go away so you could get back to dealing with things the way _you_ wanted to.” 

“No,” Derek snapped, “I wanted you to go away because I’m in _love_ with you and I don’t want you to get hurt!” 

Stiles fell back a step, blinking rapidly. His mouth opened, but he couldn’t…

Derek paced away, dragging his hands through his hair. “Lahey and McCall and whoever killed my mom are dangerous. I didn’t want them hanging around and seeing you—going after you to get to us.”

“You…I…” Stiles swallowed. “That doesn’t…”

Derek laughed mirthlessly. “Right. When you figure out the rest of those sentences, give me a call, Stilinski. You know where to find me.” He left, stalking around the rows of cubicles to the elevator. 

Stiles watched him until he was out of sight. His phone buzzed in his pocket with a reminder for his next meeting. He blinked and reached for his tie, pulling it straight. He didn’t have time to think about Derek today.

He threw himself into work, and when he ran out of that, he threw himself into research about the fire. He found newspaper clippings from the Beacon Gazette showing the remains of the house, neighbor interviews, but mostly it was more nothing. At six, he closed the file and dropped his head onto his desk. He squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn’t force it away this time. 

Derek said that he was in love with him.

What the hell was Stiles supposed to do with that? Panic made his palms sweat, heart tripping in his chest. 

Oh, god, he was probably hoping Stiles would say it back. 

“Terrible timing, Hale,” he muttered. He sat up and wiped his face on his sleeve. For now, he would address the part of Derek’s outburst that he could handle. He grabbed his phone and typed out a message. 

‘ _I’m not going to get hurt. I can help you if you’ll let me._ ’ Then he packed up his stuff and headed home.


	28. Chapter 28

Derek glared at his phone. What the hell did Stiles _mean_ , he could help him? He tossed his phone on his desk and went out to the dining room.

Isaac and Scott were doing the dishes; Laura and Boyd had already gone to the hospital for Boyd’s shift. 

Derek hadn’t meant to tell Stiles…that. He’d been upset, and guilty. He’d gone to Stiles’s office with the intentions of _apologizing,_ not spewing emotions all over the place. He’d figured Stiles would be mad, but would eventually accept Derek’s apology, and they’d go out to get lunch. Maybe he’d make Stiles just a little late, making out in the parking lot. 

He scowled. No, he’d gotten upset and blurted out what he’d been ignoring and look where that had gotten him.

Stiles had paled and stepped back like the words had physical weight he had to dodge, so shocked that Derek might as well have tossed a dead fish at him. 

And, well, that was all the response he’d needed, really. He told himself it didn't matter—he’d never meant to get tied down to Beacon Hills again anyway, so now he knew he could just leave again once this was all over.

Now Stiles was texting that he could _help_. Like he even knew…

Derek sighed, frustration leaving him.

Of course Stiles thought he could help. He thought Lahey and McCall were the biggest threats. He knew nothing of murderous hunters, trained to kill them in all sorts of ways.

“Hey, can you finishing unloading for us?” Scott asked. “I was going to show Isaac how to get past this level on Halo.”

“Yeah, go ahead.” He waved them away. 

Scott knocked gently into his shoulder as he went by. “Thanks.”

Derek scoffed and batted at his arm. He went to finish unloading the plates, checking for residue. He’d just cleaned the thing out a couple weeks ago, so it’d been cleaning better, but he was still wary. Had been ever since finding congealed pasta sauce floating in his cereal. He shuddered and checked the bowls again. He lifted the stack into the cabinet.

Scott made a strangled sound from the living room.

Derek bolted. “What, what is-” He choked on the scent of fear.

Terror, real, true, deep-in-the-gut _terror_ , had a different scent than regular fear. It was repugnant, and Scott was drowning in it, frozen by the window. His heart was hammering so loud that Derek couldn’t hear what Isaac was saying.

He went to the window. He snarled. 

Rafael McCall didn’t look good. Twenty years in prison had aged him, and his escape clearly hadn’t been kind. The last time Derek had seen him, he’d been dragged out of the courtroom shouting curses while Scott testified against him. 

Scott’s breath seemed to get caught in his throat, shoulders heaving as he tried to inhale.

McCall smiled, lifting a hand and finger waving.

“Hell no,” Derek snarled, ignoring Scott’s breathless pleas for him to stay with him and running outside. “Wrong fucking house.” He charged him.

McCall bared his teeth and brandished a gun, but Derek didn’t even slow down.

He heard it go off, registered a burning in his arm, but he didn’t care. He smacked the gun out of his hand and punched him.

Not hard enough. “Fucking mutant freak,” McCall spat, lunging at Derek with a knife.

Derek dodged way too slow, trying to understand McCall’s insult. The knife pierced his shoulder. He glanced at in surprise as his knees gave out. Black lines of poison spread out from it and the bullet wound he’d ignored. He looked up.

McCall stood over him, holding the gun. “First you, for what you are,” he said, licking his lips. “Then my boy, for lying.”

“He didn’t lie,” Derek snarled. 

“Melissa fell!” he screamed, spit spraying in Derek’s face.

“After you choked and pushed her!” Derek’s vision wavered as the wolfsbane worked through his system. “Who’re you working with, McCall?”

He straightened up and cocked the gun. “Doesn’t matter.” His finger twitched.

“ _No!_ ” Scott threw himself at McCall.

Derek rolled just as the gun went off. The bullet plowed into the ground where he’d been a second ago. He looked up.

Scott was standing over McCall, who was unconscious. 

“Kill him,” he snarled. 

Scott shook his head. “Isaac’s on the phone with the police.” He grabbed the gun and took the bullets out. “Got a lighter?”

Derek gave him a look.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. I’ll be right back. Don’t die.”

Derek looked at McCall and curled his lip. “Only if he goes first.”

Scott shook his head and went inside. 

Derek kept an eye on McCall, but he didn’t stir. Derek wondered briefly if Scott had given him brain damage, but found he didn’t really care. 

Scott returned with the wolfsbane ash a minute later. “Sorry,” he said, and shoved his fingers into the bullet hole.

Derek snapped his teeth together against a howl of pain. Fangs dug into his lip, drawing blood, his eyes flickered, and then Scott was dropping the bullet and smearing ash into the wound. 

He yanked the knife out next and did the same to that wound.

Derek let himself collapse into the grass, panting as his body healed.

“Um.” Scott poked his arm.

“What?” he groaned. 

“We have a problem.” 

He turned his head.

Isaac was on the porch, gaping.

Derek sat up fast. “Any chance he didn’t see that?” he muttered.

“How did you _heal_ like that?” Isaac demanded. 

“No,” Scott replied weakly.

“Take him inside,” Derek instructed. “We’ll have to tell him,” he added. “That way he knows not to tell anyone else.”

“But…”

“Scott, a car is pulling up fast. Unless it’s Sheriff Stilinski, we can’t have anyone hearing him say stuff like that.”

Scott flicked his arm. “You’re covered in blood.” 

Impatient, Derek pulled his shirt off and wiped up the blood. He thrust it at Scott. “Go inside,” he ordered.

McCall groaned.

Scott’s face paled. He took the shirt and went to the porch. “I’ll explain inside, come on.”

Isaac followed him.

Sheriff Stilinski screeched to a halt and lurched out of the cruiser. “Is that-”

Derek grabbed McCall’s arm and hauled him to his feet. “Yeah. He’s working with hunters,” he added quietly. 

McCall jerked in his grip, trying to twist away.

Derek held onto him as Sheriff Stilinski approached with his cuffs out.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. He had wolfsbane loaded bullets and a knife coated with it.”

Sheriff Stilinski nodded. “I’ll be right back.” He cuffed McCall’s hands behind his back and started reciting his Mirandas on the way to the cruiser.

Derek crossed his arms and waited. 

He returned once McCall was locked in the back of the cruiser. “Any sign of Lahey?”

Derek shook his head.

“Damn. Okay. I’m going to question him, see if I can’t get him to tell me who broke him out, who he’s working with. How’s Scott?”

Derek shrugged. “Freaked out, but probably better now that McCall’s in custody.”

Sheriff Stilinski nodded. “And Isaac?”

Derek grimaced automatically. “He may have, um. Seen something.” He flashed his eyes. 

“Ah. Well. He’s not much younger than Boyd and Scott were when Talia told them,” he said reasonably, while Derek was wondering how he hadn’t known how close Sheriff Stilinski and his mother were. “I’m sure he can handle it.” He clapped Derek on the shoulder. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, and walked away.

Isaac _more_ than handled it; he was fascinated and wanted to see their shifts, their claws and fangs and healing. They even showed him their full shifts, which he really liked. 

“And you’re strong, too, right? You can lift heavy stuff and break stuff?”

“Yeah, but we try not to,” Scott said delicately. 

“I want that.” He looked between them, inexplicably eager. 

“Want…?”

“To be like you. You said Scott and Boyd were human first, right? I want to be strong, so no one can hurt me, so I can fight.”

Scott looked at Derek, panicked.

“You’re…too young,” he said, slow. “But I promise, we aren’t going to let anyone hurt you, okay?”

“Why am I too young? How old was Scott when he got changed?” Isaac’s face was set, eyes bright with either fury or fear, Derek couldn’t tell.

“I was eighteen,” Scott replied. “And I’d known since I was fourteen. So I had a lot of time to think about it.”

Isaac crossed his arms. “So I have to wait for _years?_ ” 

“Why do you want it now? You’ve got plenty of time to think about it.”

He shook his head rapidly, tears filling his eyes, and stomped away. His bedroom door slammed a moment later.

Scott winced. “I mean,” he whispered, “I get it.”

Derek did, too.

Isaac wanted to be strong so his father couldn’t hurt him. But they would catch Lahey soon, especially if he was as stupid and reckless as McCall, and then maybe Isaac would change his decision. It wasn’t one to make lightly. 

“He _is_ too young. He’d have to learn control while going through puberty.” He wrinkled his nose.

“You and Laura did it,” Scott pointed out.

“We already knew how to control our shifts by then, though. So it was just like normal puberty for us. Dealing with everything stronger, learning how to control our emotions.”

Scott nodded. “Okay. We’ll have to tell Laura he knows.”

“Not it!”

He scowled. “That’s not fair! I had to tell him about the werewolf thing.”

Derek shrugged. “Have pity, I got shot.”

Scott snorted and shoved him onto the couch, then went to the kitchen.

Derek waited a minute before going to his room. He picked up his phone and stared at it. He grimaced. He wanted Stiles’s opinion on the Isaac/werewolf situation, he realized. But he obviously couldn’t ask that. He set his phone down and flopped on his bed.


	29. Chapter 29

When Lydia told Stiles not to come until about nine, Stiles thought he’d sleep in. He popped up at about five thirty, cursing and wide awake. He’d tried to go back to sleep, but it was useless. So, grumbling, he got dressed. He’d put off grocery shopping all weekend, avoiding crowds, and Monday morning was as good a time as any, he guessed. 

He checked his phone, grimacing at the three unread messages from Derek. He was being a little bit of a coward in that regard, he supposed. He didn’t want to have to face him after Derek’s…declaration. He felt bad for not having the response Derek clearly wanted, but he didn’t think it would be fair to just ignore it and move on. But he didn’t want to talk about it. So he was ignoring Derek. 

He cursed himself, calling himself all sorts of names, and got in the jeep, heading for Safeway. 

It was pretty deserted, just nine other cars in the parking lot, which wasn’t unusual for seven in the morning. He chose an empty row near a full cart corral, grabbing one to bring inside. He braced it against his jeep and checked his wallet to make sure he’d grabbed his debit card. 

The cart jerked, then slammed painfully into his side. 

“Ow! What the fuck-” He looked up. His eyes widened. Before he could grab his phone, Roger Lahey shoved him back against the jeep. 

He punched Stiles in the face first, then the stomach. “You listen to me, you fucking-”

Stiles kneed him in the balls and darted left, fumbling for his phone.

Lahey, gagging and cursing, grabbed the back of Stiles’s shirt. He yanked Stiles back, throwing him against the jeep again. 

Stiles threw his hands up. 

Lahey knocked his arms away and put his hands around his throat. Squeezed. Shook him. “You better stay out of my fucking way. Stay away from my kid.”

Stiles tried to break his grip, but his hands were shaking, couldn’t quite close on his wrists. His chest burned as he tried to pull in a breath. 

“—kill those fuckin’—murdering animals—you—”

“Hey!” The voice cut through the haze falling over his brain.

The hands on his throat loosened.

He jerked his arms up, breaking Lahey’s grip. He gasped, collapsing against the jeep.

Something crackled loudly.

Lahey swore. His shoes slapped the pavement as he ran. 

“The police are on the way.” Erica Reyes crouched beside him, her face tight with concern. “Are you okay?” She had a metal, hot pink flashlight in hand. 

He nodded, still getting his breath back. He swallowed and winced. “What’s with the flashlight?”

She looked surprised, then smirked and flicked a button. Electricity sparked and crackled around the light. “It’s also a Taser.” She turned it off. “Will you be okay for a second?” 

He nodded.

She nodded and stood, jogging away. 

Stiles watched her go. He was shaking all over, and his throat was starting to hurt. So was his face. He was probably going to have bruises again, just as the ones from Rowe’s shove had fully faded. 

Erica’s car pulled up behind the jeep. She hopped out carrying a frozen pack of vegetables. “Here, sweetie.” She pressed it against the side of his face. 

“Where’s Lana?” he rasped, making a face at the sound of his voice.

“She’s at preschool. Do you know what he wanted?” she asked bluntly. “Money or something?”

He shook his head. “S’Isaac’s father.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. 

A deputy pulled up; John most likely hadn’t gotten to the station yet, which Stiles was grateful for. He didn’t want him freaking out. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” Deputy Parrish asked.

“Yeah, but you’re going to want to call for back up first. An escaped prisoner assaulted me,” he added when Parrish lifted a brow skeptically. “He ran east on foot. I’ll tell you what he was wearing and stuff while giving my statement.”

Erica hung around until Deputy Parrish told Stiles he could go, promising to get ahold of the Hales and warn them. Erica didn’t seem to want to leave him, even offering to drive him to the hospital, but he insisted he didn’t need to go. 

“I promise, I’m fine. I have to try to get ahold of my dad.” 

She finally left, though she looked worried. 

Stiles got in his car before texting a quick rundown to Lydia, explaining that he would have to reschedule most of his meetings and be stuck on desk duty while his face healed. It took a while to type out the message, with his hands shaking as hard as they were. He was annoyed when Lydia promptly called him after reading the message. 

“ _Hey. Why don’t you take-”_

“I’m not taking the day off,” he rasped. 

She was silent. 

He sighed. “I’ll take a half day?”

“ _You really shouldn’t come in at all.”_ Lydia sighed quietly. “ _But you have a message from Miss Argent. She’d like to speak to you about her father again._ ”

Stiles rubbed his unbruised eye. “Alright. Is she coming to the office?”

“ _No, she’s requested that you meet at Hulbalt Park, since she only has time for the meeting during her lunch break. I can call her back and reschedule, if you’d like._ ”

“No, it’s fine. What time is it?”

“ _Twelve-fifteen. Stiles, this_ one _meeting, then you go home. You had a traumatic incident this morning, and you really shouldn’t be working._ ”

“I need something to concentrate on,” he murmured.

“ _Be that as it may, we can’t have you in the office looking like an abuse survivor. Our people are jumpy enough._ ”

He sighed. “Fine. Thank you,” he added stiffly. 

“ _Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow about your cases._ ” She hung up. 

Stiles glanced at the time. He had a couple hours before he had to meet Kate, and he hadn’t gotten groceries. He glanced in his mirror and winced at the bruises forming on his neck and face. Might as well get it over with before more people showed up. 

His phone buzzed with a text from Derek. He sighed and checked it.

_Police just stopped by. Lahey was spotted in town. Isaac not going to school today._

He bit his lip, then responded carefully. Apparently the police hadn’t mentioned his involvement, which he was grateful for. He didn’t think he could handle Derek’s reaction to what had happened, on top of his own. He inhaled, put his phone away, and went to the store.


	30. Chapter 30

Kate was already at Hulbalt Park when Stiles arrived. She was at a picnic table under the pavilion, near the restrooms and grills. She saw him and waved, standing.

He expected her to look shocked by his appearance—the bruises had come in colorful and livid in the past couple hours—so he wasn’t surprised when she gasped.

She put a hand over her mouth, her eyes gleaming strangely. “Oh my goodness! What happened? Do you need to reschedule?”

“No, I’m fine, just had a little incident this morning.” He had his jacket on, zipped to his chin. He felt ridiculous, but it hid the bruises on his throat. “Let’s talk about your father. Is everything okay?”

“Oh. Yes, mostly. He doesn’t like any of the places I’ve called,” she said, sitting back down slowly. “I was hoping you could help me come up with some way to get him to cooperate.”

Stiles nodded. “I understand. You could try talking to him, ask him what _he_ feels he needs the most help with and if he has something in mind to fix it. Occasionally, situations like these make people feel they have no control, and talking it out, asking what _they_ want, can help them regain a sense of control in their own lives.” He frowned, trying to remember some of the companies he’d found. “How old is your father? If he’s still relatively self-sufficient, it could be better to maybe hire a housekeeper who specializes in senior living.” He pulled his phone out. “And what’s his name? I can make some calls, set up some interviews.” 

Kate smiled. “He’s sixty-two. Young, I know, but he was wild as a kid, and his memory isn’t what it used to be. He had a stroke last year, and he didn’t suffer too many lasting side effects, but he has trouble.” She lifted her phone, flicking her finger a couple times, and turned it. “His name is Gerard,” she added belatedly. “I guess you need that to set up the interviews.” 

Stiles nodded, glancing up absently at the phone. He froze, breath catching.

A bald, familiar old man smirked back at him.

“I-” Stiles croaked. He swallowed and winced at the pain in his throat. “I—will you excuse me a moment?”

Kate tilted her head, smiling.

“Right back,” he gasped, gesturing at his face. “Migraine.” He bolted for the restroom, fumbling his phone out of his pocket. He darted into a stall and latched himself in. He cursed. No service.

The door slammed open. “I wondered if you’d recognize him,” Kate said cheerfully. “We weren’t sure, but you’ve been around _them_ for a while. We figured it was only a matter of time before you started looking into it.” She hummed. “You sit tight. I’ll be back for you in a few.” The lights turned off, plunging him into darkness. The door slammed. 

A dead bolt slid home. 

Dread pooled in his stomach. He turned on his phone’s flashlight. “Okay, okay, this isn’t ideal, but it’s not hopeless.” He blew out a slow breath. Checked his phone. Still no signal. He left his stall.

The entry door was locked, so he went right. There were about seven stalls. It made the room seem endless, especially when it turned a corner for a group of accessible stalls. 

His breath hitched. He pressed his phone against his leg, blocking the light. 

Weak light lit the corner.

He turned his flashlight off. He blinked until his eyes adjusted. 

There was light up ahead. It was coming from a filthy, high-up window.

Stiles jammed his phone in his pocket and ran to it. There was a ledge, just enough that he might be able to pull himself up. He tried to flip the latch. It was rusted shut. “Fuck. Fuck. Okay.” He looked around. He pushed open one of the accessible stalls and let out a breath. 

The toilet had a tank attached to it, unlike the ones at the front of the bathroom.

He grabbed the heavy porcelain tank lid and strode back to the window. He eyed it. Weighed the tank lid in his hands. He inhaled, ducked his head, and threw it. He had a split second to worry about bouncing back at him.

The window shattered. 

“Thank god.” He took his jacket off and tried to sweep as much glass off the window frame as possible. Then he shook the shards off and draped the jacket over the bottom of the frame. He shook his hands, trying to psych himself up. He’d get outside, call the police, and then go home and have a very long nap. He nodded, gulped, and grabbed the ledge. He didn’t let himself hesitate or overthink it. He braced his feet and heaved. He scrabbled against the wall, pulling and kicking until his feet braced against the ledge. He pushed himself forward and tumbled to the ground, landing in a heap. His left arm burned. 

He glanced down. “Son of a bitch.”

Blood spread from a cut below his shoulder, staining his sleeve. He prodded it, but he couldn’t tell if it was deep enough for stitches or not. It looked deeper than a simple scratch, which probably meant he should go to the hospital anyway. 

He pulled his tie off and wrapped it around the cut, wincing. Then he went to the jeep and locked himself in. He drove down the street, to a gas station, and parked there before calling the station.

“Hey,” he said, aiming for calm. “Is Sheriff Stilinski available?”

“ _Sorry, he’s in an interrogation right now. Can I give him a message?_ ” Deputy Johnson chirped. 

Stiles opened his mouth, then shut it, realizing he had nothing to say. What could he say? That he had no proof except a picture he hadn’t had a good look at, and the fact that Kate had locked him in a bathroom? That wasn’t evidence of anything, from a legal standpoint. 

“ _Sir?_ ”

He shook his head, swallowing. “Nothing. I’m sorry, it’s not important. I’ll try back later. Thanks.” He hung up and set his phone on his leg. He glanced at his arm, which was steadily bleeding through his tie. He put the jeep in drive and headed for the hospital.

Stiles was irritable, tired, everything hurt, and he _knew_ the fallout from two violent encounters back to back was going to hit and make him crash. He was even more frustrated when the nurse patted his knee and said, “Dr. Boyd will be here in just a minute.” 

“Fucking awesome,” he muttered. His throat was still painful, he had a wicked headache, and he had blood all over him. He really didn’t want Derek’s _brother_ prodding at him. Especially not if Boyd agreed with Derek about the therapy thing. 

Stiles moved his shoulders restlessly, then hissed. 

Boyd came in and froze at the sight of him. “What happened?” He looked genuinely concerned. 

“I assume you’ve been here all morning?”

He nodded slowly.

Stiles gestured at his own face. “Lahey jumped me this morning.”

“ _What?!_ ” he snarled. It was so much like Derek’s that Stiles could only stare. 

He nodded after a moment. “The police already went to let Laura and everyone know. They’re looking for him now. I doubt he got far, they were right behind him.”

“And your arm?” His nose twitched.

“That was…” He wasn’t sure if he could explain or not. He’d prefer to discuss the fire with Derek, or his father, not Boyd or any of the other Hale kids. “Separate,” he sighed. “Got cut on some glass.” He’d talk to his father, see what they could do about the Argents. 

Boyd nodded slowly. “Right…okay. Well, you’ve got a lot of bruising on your face and throat. I’m going to order a CT scan to make sure you don’t have a concussion or damage to your larynx. We’ll stitch you up first,” he added with a glance at all the blood. “And get you something for the pain.” 

By the time he’d been stitched up and checked over, scanned, prodded, and injected, Stiles was exhausted, weaving on his feet. He texted his father while he waited for Boyd to finish the discharge paperwork. He wrote “URGENT” at the top, then quickly told him that he thought Gerard Argent was responsible or involved with the Samuels fire, that he’d told the police his name was Gerry Andrews back then, and that Kate, his daughter, had locked Stiles in a bathroom and threatened to return for him. He said he was safe, and going home to sleep.

The door opened.

Stiles hit send and looked up. He scowled. 

Boyd lifted his brows. “You aren’t fit to drive.”

Derek looked caught between annoyed and murderous, though Stiles couldn’t fathom which was directed at him. “Come on,” he muttered. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Oh, _will_ you? Thanks.” Stiles stood, wobbling. 

“Here’s your care instructions,” Boyd said blandly, passing him a sheaf of papers. “Rest your throat.” 

The first half of the ride was silent and tense. Stiles fumed about being treated like a child for about five minutes, before realizing he could barely keep his head up as the pain meds worked their way through his system. They left him feeling drowsy and irritable about it.

“What happened?” Derek asked at a red light.

Stiles glanced at him, then looked back at the windshield. He couldn’t think of how to phrase this delicately, so that Derek didn’t flip out. “I was jumped by Roger Lahey this morning.”

The car jerked as Derek whipped around to face him. “What?!”

“Watch the road!” Stiles snapped. He rubbed at his throat, the force of his words making it throb. He swallowed.

“Here.” Derek held out a bottle of water. 

Stiles opened it and took a drink. He set it against his leg and sighed. “Lahey jumped me this morning when I was trying to get groceries. I called the police and told them what happened. They told me they would warn you guys.” He felt Derek glance at him, gaze traveling over his bruised face and neck. He shrugged. “It wasn’t too bad.”

“What did he do?”

Stiles shrugged. “Knocked me around a little. Couple punches.”

Derek’s fingers brushed his neck, feather light.

He swallowed. “Yeah, that too.”

“Jesus.” Derek withdrew his hand, setting it back on the wheel. He glanced over, then away. “Did he pull a knife?”

“What?”

“You’ve got stitches and blood all over your shirt.”

Stiles glanced down, feeling betrayed. He’d forgotten about his shirt. “I got cut on some glass.” 

Derek nodded. “How?”

Stiles closed his eyes. He didn’t want to talk about it yet. His plan had been to talk to Derek about this when things were calm, when he was wide awake and able to explain it clearly. He chanced a glance at Derek.

He could get angry. After all, he’d told Stiles about the fire in a moment of weakness, rather than after making the decision to tell him. Maybe he’d want Stiles to have left it alone. 

“Stiles?” he prompted.

He inhaled. No point in hiding it or lying about it. Reluctantly, he looked over and said, “I was looking into the fire.”

Derek’s whole body tensed; the air in the jeep felt charged. 

Stiles dropped his gaze. “And.” His voice cracked. He took another sip of water. “I think I know who did it.”

Derek didn’t look at him. “Okay.” His hands clenched on the wheel. “I don’t want to—I can’t—” His jaw flexed. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Stiles nodded, looking down at his lap.   



	31. Chapter 31

Derek walked Stiles up to his door. His nose twitched when Stiles unlocked and opened it. He looked over Stiles’s shoulder. A low rumble came from his chest.

Stiles glanced at him. “What?”

He looked away. “Nothing—actually, no. Someone was in your apartment.”

Stiles blinked, then looked back into his apartment. “How can you tell that?” He went inside, stopping just beside the door. He couldn’t tell if Derek was right, or if it felt like someone had been in there _because_ Derek had said it. He noticed his mail and felt his stomach drop.

He always left his mail in a haphazard pile on his coffee table; it was much neater than he ever bothered to do.

Creeped out, he went to the kitchen. Nothing was out of place. He backed into the living room again.

Derek had followed him inside, closing the door behind him. 

“Don’t,” Stiles whispered. “What if someone’s still in here?”

Derek shook his head. “There’s no one here.”

“How can you tell?” he pressed.

Derek paced to the coffee table and away. He stalked down the hallway to Stiles’s home office, set up in the second bedroom.

Stiles followed him more slowly, frowning.

The door was open. 

Derek pointed.

Stiles stared.

“Do you normally leave your files like that?”

Papers were spread over his desk, one of his file cabinet doors hung open about four inches, and folders were laying open on his desk. 

The hair on the back of Stiles’s neck stood up. He walked in slowly, turning a circle and taking it all in. The issue, he realized with a dim sort of horror, was that it didn’t _look_ like it’d been ransacked. It looked like he simply was disorganized with his files. But he wasn’t. He had sensitive information here, not vital, but things he considered private, and he never, _ever_ left it out in the open like this. 

The file laying open at the center of his desk was Isaac’s. The information was vague, just basic stuff that he wanted to have on hand in case of emergency.

He swallowed. 

Derek snarled under his breath. 

Stiles looked at him, shuddering.

“Someone was _in here,_ ” he growled. “Someone came in here and went through your stuff, where you live, and I-” He paced away, hands and shoulders flexing.

“Derek?”

“I can’t-” He whipped around, making Stiles jump. “I can’t handle it, I can’t handle the idea of someone hurting you.”

Stiles shook his head. “I’m okay.” 

“No, you aren’t.” He finally stopped moving. “You’re hurt, and scared, and exhausted.”

Stiles’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah.”

Hearing it seemed to flip a switch in Derek. His furious intensity faded. He went to the living room; Stiles heard the lock flip and the chain jangle, and then Derek returned. He ushered Stiles to his bedroom.

Stiles was too tired to do more than go along with him. 

Derek eased him down on the edge of the bed and started unbuttoning his shirt.

Stiles just watched, head tilted back. He shivered as Derek’s knuckles brushed his skin.

Derek murmured an apology and gently eased the shirt off of his shoulders.

Stiles was trembling head to toe by the time he’d been carefully, gingerly stripped bare, hands gripping the edge of the bed to keep himself grounded. “Derek.”

“Yes.” He stopped in front of him, holding the sweatpants he’d pulled from Stiles’s dresser. 

“Touch me.” His face flushed, but he didn’t take it back. 

Derek looked at his face. “You’re tired.”

“I know. But I want…” He lifted a hand and held it out. “Please. I want you.”

Derek closed his eyes. Then he sighed and took Stiles’s hand, drawing him up and into his arms. 

Stiles let out a shaking breath, tilting his head to kiss him.

Derek smoothed his hands down Stiles’s back, mindful of his injuries. He eased him back so he could strip his own clothes off, with much less care than he’d treated Stiles with.

Stiles scrambled onto the bed, wincing as he jostled his stitches. 

Derek cupped his face, gingerly holding his cheeks between his palms. He brushed his thumb over Stiles’s bottom lip before kissing him. “I want to take care of you,” he murmured, and Stiles let him. 

He was so, so gentle that Stiles ached, his fists curling in the sheets while Derek opened him up. He nearly sobbed as Derek lifted him into his lap, murmuring to him and holding him close while they rocked together. 

Stiles tipped his forehead against Derek’s, shuddering and gasping his name. 

Derek kissed him as he came, his mouth uncoordinated and a little rough for the first time, and Stiles came apart in his arms. 

After cleaning them both up, Derek arranged Stiles carefully on his chest and settled them both under the blankets. Stiles fell asleep briefly, but woke to Derek pulling his hand through his hair idly. 

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“S’fine.” Stiles moved, resting his cheek against Derek’s shoulder. He was still drowsy, but his pain medicine was wearing off. He glanced up at Derek’s face. “Why do you feel so guilty about the fire?” he asked quietly. “You were only eight.”

Derek flinched, arms tensing around him briefly. 

Stiles closed his eyes, prepared to be shoved away. 

Derek let out a quiet breath instead. “I saw…something.” He swallowed with a click. 

“What do you mean?”

Derek shrugged restlessly. “I was eight. Laura and I had been fighting that day, because I wanted to play with her and her friends in the preserve, but she said I was too young, and I was mad at her for that. Couldn’t sleep, I’ve always had trouble sleeping when I’m upset, so I got up and looked out my window. Our house was deep in the preserve so it was pitch black, without even moonlight because it was a new moon.” He sucked in a breath. “I could see someone—person shaped moving in the backyard, and Laura was always tall for her age, so…” He shook his head. “Being eight and feeling excluded, I thought it was Laura, leaving me behind to go on some adventure.”

“Derek…”

He shrugged. “I snuck outside to follow her, only it wasn’t Laura. By that time, the house was smoking and—the only reason Laura made it out was because she heard me leave my room and followed me to see where I was going. They chased us,” he added blankly. “They were laughing while our family burned, and they chased us, but we kept running.”

The shocking horror of that had Stiles sitting up, or trying to—Derek’s grip on him didn’t break and ended up keeping him mostly in place. “But-” He shook his head. “Why would that be your fault?”

“Because I didn’t tell anyone. If I’d just told my parents I’d seen someone in the yard, they could’ve caught them, stopped them and called the police.” 

Stiles shook his head. “Or they could’ve told you that you were having a bad dream and sent you back to bed. Or maybe your parents would’ve made it out to confront them, but no one else.” 

Derek shrugged again. He looked at Stiles, then away. “You said you knew…or that you thought you knew…could you tell me?”

Stiles nodded. “I was looking into it, to try to see if there was anything I could do—I always wanted to be a cop when I was little, so sometimes I get curious—and basically, there was nothing. Until a woman came in to get help for her elderly father.” He told him about the lead suspect “Gerry Andrews” and the picture of Gerard Argent that Kate had shown him. 

Derek went tense. “And what happened after you recognized him?” he asked.

Stiles swallowed. “I excused myself very unsubtly, went to the restroom to call my dad, and got locked in. By Kate. She, um, said she’d be back for me. So I broke the window and climbed out, cut myself on the glass.”

“Did the police arrest her?” he growled.

Stiles smiled crookedly. “For what? Locking me in a bathroom? I don’t have any _proof_ of anything.”

Derek glowered.

“It’s not like she’s going to hunt me down.”

“Stiles.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a second. “Who do you think was in your apartment?”

His heart skipped. “Oh.”

“I’m staying here tonight.” Worry crossed his face, but he shook it off. “Let me just let Laura know where I’ll be.”

Stiles didn’t want to be alone, but he couldn’t ask Derek to stay when he was concerned for his family’s safety. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine. I’ll probably go stay with my dad. It’s fine.”

Derek stared at him. He looked pained. “Will you come stay with me?”

“What?”

He held a hand up. “I know you’re not—not on the same…” His jaw clenched. “I don’t expect you to say it back,” he said finally. “But I wanted you to know that I love you, and I want you safe, whether you felt that way about me or not.”

“I do care about you,” Stiles said quietly.

Derek brushed their noses together. “I know. I’m glad. So will you please consider coming home with me, so I’ll know you and my family are all safe?”

And how could Stiles say no to that? “Let me pack some clothes.”


	32. Chapter 32

Derek woke with his nose pressed up under Stiles’s jaw, breathing in his scent. Joy bounded through him, tugging his mouth into a sleepy smile, as he realized Stiles was in his bed with him, sound asleep and peaceful. He lifted his head. His mood darkened when he saw the bruises on Stiles’s face, the dark circle of them on his throat. The previous day flooded back to him as his brain woke up.

He wanted to find Lahey and Argent both and rip them apart. 

He made himself take a deep, calming breath. Beyond his room, he could hear his siblings awake and stirring, so it was probably not too early for breakfast. He pressed a kiss to Stiles’s jaw, then his chin, his nose, his temple, until he was smiling and starting to wake up. He brushed their mouths together. 

Stiles opened his eyes and smiled sleepily. “Morning.”

Derek’s heart felt too full for his chest. “Morning.” He kissed him again, a little deeper this time, until he gasped and brought his hand up to grip the back of Derek’s neck. Derek hummed appreciatively and licked into his mouth.

Stiles moved, hooking his leg around Derek’s and rolling his hips, letting out a soft, pleased groan. He scratched his fingers along Derek’s scalp, making him gasp and press against him.

He pulled back, just enough to whisper, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Stiles smiled at him. “Me too.” He brushed their noses together. 

Derek leaned back in, licking along his bottom lip.

The door burst open. “Derek, can I-”

“Isaac, I told you not to go in there!” Scott called, sounding half-hysterical.

Isaac froze in the doorway.

Derek turned, felt himself flushing red. 

Scott careened into the room behind Isaac, throwing his hands over Isaac’s eyes. 

Stiles, mortified, muttered, “Oh my god,” and hid his face under a pillow. 

Isaac shook Scott off. He still looked badly shocked. He also looked almost frightened. He twisted on his heel, shoved past Scott, and bolted. 

Derek swore and sat up. “No, don’t,” he said when Scott tried to chase him. “I’ll go.” He looked at Stiles, hesitating.

Stiles shoved his arm. “Go!”

Derek rolled off the bed and snagged a pair of jeans from the floor. He hitched them over his hips as he ran. He could hear Isaac’s progress through the house and out the back door. “Damn it.” He buckled down and ran, nearly knocking Scott on his ass. 

Laura watched him as he passed, leaning deeply into her coffee mug. 

Derek followed Isaac into the trees, catching up and surpassing him. “Stop!” he ordered. “You can’t come running out here every time you’re upset! It isn’t safe!” 

Isaac glared up at him, panting. “Why is he _here?_ Is he-” He shook his head.

Derek opened and closed his mouth. “I thought you knew we were dating,” he said carefully. “Stiles spent the night because we were hanging out and he was too tired to go home.” He hated the lie, but he didn’t want Isaac to freak out _more_ , knowing his own father had beat Stiles up.

Isaac rolled his eyes. “I don’t care about _that_ , I already _knew_ you and Mr. Stilinski were dating. But I didn’t think he was going to be here all the time,” he muttered. He crossed his arms. “Like he’s watching us.” 

Derek sighed. “Stiles isn’t going to take you away,” he said gently. “That isn’t why he’s here. He already said he thinks you belong here.”

“Yeah?” He looked up cautiously.

“Yep. He’s just here because he likes to be here. And because I kinda like him.” Derek shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. 

Isaac nodded, dragging the toe of his sneaker through the dirt. “Yeah. I guess he’s kinda cute. Does he know you guys are werewolves?”

“Uh, no,” Derek choked. “That’s something we try to keep secret until we think we can trust someone with that, uh, information. Or until we think they’re ready for it.”

“You don’t think you can trust Stiles?”

“Um. No. Not yet. Not with that.” Maybe not ever. Who knew? 

Isaac nodded thoughtfully. “You should tell him.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He seems cool, for a social worker.”

Derek smiled. “I’ll think about it. Now, will you come inside? I’m hungry and cold.” 

Isaac snorted. “Yeah. Also, Laura said the basketball hoop got delivered.”

“Fuck,” he muttered. He still hadn’t figured out what to do with that.

Isaac laughed and ran back for the house.

Derek shook his head and followed at a slower pace. 

Stiles was dressed and in the kitchen with Laura when he got inside. He smiled when their eyes met, but he didn’t stop talking to Laura. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he was saying. “My skin just shows marks really easily.”

Laura clicked her tongue sympathetically. “Still, those ones on your neck look painful.”

“Boyd said I’m fine.”

“I also said to rest your voice,” Boyd said, coming down the stairs. He was dressed for work.

Stiles made a face. “I have rested it!”

Isaac snickered. He was at the table, untangling his yarn. He hadn’t worked on his knitting project since Lahey had escaped.

Derek went over to Stiles, leaning up against his back. He kissed the side of his throat and set a hand on his hip, sliding it under his shirt and pulling away the pain little by little.

Stiles relaxed back against him, sighing contentedly. 

Laura giggled and turned away. 

Stiles startled and moved away quickly.

Derek rolled his eyes. “I’m going to get dressed.”

“Finally!” Scott called from the living room. 

Laura let Boyd go to work alone, since he was on the day shift, so they were all home with Isaac and Stiles. Derek noticed Isaac looking at the bruises on Stiles’s face, but knew he wouldn’t ask. After all, when it’d been him, he’d always hoped no one would ask about his.

They played video games, argued over the latest Marvel show, and made a plan for the basketball hoop (Lowe’s, Derek would have to shell out for the cost of installation and materials eventually). They spent the day together. Watching Stiles try to beat Scott at Mario Kart, Derek realized he never wanted him to leave. And that was a problem.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeeee

Stiles went home on the following Monday morning. As much as he’d enjoyed spending time with the Hales, holed up playing video, board, and card games, after a week off, he was ready to go back to work. He’d spent some time with John on Saturday; he was furious about the bruises, glad Stiles wasn’t alone, and he’d promised to look into Argent when he had time. He was more interested in catching Lahey, and Stiles couldn’t blame him.

When he wasn’t looking for Lahey, he was questioning Rafael McCall about his escape during his work hours. 

Derek wasn’t happy Stiles was going home. He’d gone quiet the evening before when Stiles told him, but he hadn’t tried to talk Stiles out of it or stop him.

The apartment felt strange as he stepped in. He shuddered. It felt like someone had been in there, again or still, he wasn’t sure. Nothing looked out of place this time. His mail was still a mess, couch pillows still arranged in the ROY G BIV he couldn’t help placing them in. 

Stiles shook it off and went to his room. He hadn’t packed any work clothes, or he’d have gone straight to the office. He’d argued before that jeans and a t-shirt would make him seem more approachable to the kids, but Lydia wasn’t swayed. 

He was fumbling with and cursing at his tie when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t anything big, just a flick of movement, but he turned his head automatically. He leaped back.

“Uh-uh, not this time,” Lahey snapped. He stalked forward, brandishing a six inch knife. 

Stiles tried not to look as afraid as he felt. “Do you really want to add assault with a deadly weapon to your sheet?” he asked. His gaze darted to the side. His phone was on his bed, tossed there as he’d changed his pants.

“What’s it matter at this point? Escaping from jail’s gotta add more than enough time.” He stalked closer. 

Stiles lunged for his phone.

Lahey jumped at him.

Stiles grabbed his phone and threw himself backwards. He tripped over his pants. He rolled toward the wall.

Lahey cursed and loomed over him.

Something slammed from the living room.

Lahey straightened up, eyes wild, face flushed.

Stiles couldn’t look away from the knife blade hovering above him. It was _huge_ , and coated with something that made it look slightly purple and wet. He swallowed.

Derek burst into the room, roaring. He and Lahey collided with a heavy _thump._

The knife flew out of Lahey’s hands. It landed in Stiles’s hamper. 

Stiles scrambled forward, snatching it. He looked up and froze. 

Derek’s face was…wrong, different, inhuman somehow. He had fangs that he snapped in Lahey’s face. His eyes were glowing gold.

Stiles’s grip on the knife went limp. “What—wha—the fuck-” he stammered.

Derek’s head snapped up.

Stiles squeaked and scrambled backwards, arms thrown up.

Derek’s expression…even with the changes, he looked devastated. 

Lahey kicked him in the jaw and ran. 

Stiles couldn’t move. He sat against the wall, frozen, as if willing Derek not to see him.

The changes in Derek’s face melted away, fangs shrinking, eyes going back to their green-blue normalcy. “Stiles-”

He jumped to his feet. “What is—why?” He tried to wrap his brain around what he’d seen. “Why?” he repeated. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Derek said. He put his hands up. 

Stiles cringed back.

Derek’s eyes grew sadder. “Don’t freak out. I’m not going to hurt you. Sheriff Stilinski knows, he can tell you-”

Stiles shook his head. “I—I have to go to work,” he said numbly. 

Derek looked blank. He lowered his hands. “Maybe you should take a sick day,” he said carefully. 

“No, no, I—I need to go to work.” He grabbed his phone, then hesitated.

Derek was between him and the door.

As if realizing, Derek scrambled out of the way. 

Stiles bolted. He forgot his jacket and his wallet, but he had his phone. He grabbed his keys off the coffee table and left. His phone rang several times on his way to the office, but he didn’t so much as glance at it. He parked in his spot and stared at the building. His phone rang again. Slowly, he looked at the screen. His mouth tightened when he saw it was his father. He answered. 

“ _Son, I know you’re freaked out, but you have to stay calm._ ”

“Okay.”

“ _Derek called me. He told me you’d been attacked. Are you okay?_ ”

“Yes.” His voice sounded dull and lifeless. 

John was quiet a beat. “ _They’re good people._ ”

“What are they?”

Another long silence. “ _Werewolves._ ”

Stiles snorted. 

“ _It sounds ridiculous, but it’s true._ ” He hesitated, then said, “ _Your supervisor, Lydia Martin, is also aware. Her grandmother was responsible for Talia getting custody of Laura and Derek. You should talk to her. She’ll be able to tell you more in person._ ”

Stiles’s gaze shot over to Lydia’s car. He tried to imagine walking into her office and asking Lydia Martin, to her _face_ , about _werewolves._

“ _Stiles?_ ”

“I don’t think you’re right about Lydia,” he said finally. “This is too much, I think.” He felt dazed, worse than when Lahey had nearly strangled him, which was completely fucked up and he knew it. 

“ _It’s not. It feels like it, but I promise, you can handle it. I did._ ” John sighed. “ _Now go to work and talk to Lydia._ ”

“Ah-huh.” He let his phone drop into his lap.

It took a little bit to get moving. He went to the second floor on autopilot. He kept seeing Derek’s face…It had clearly been Derek under the changes, but… He shook his head. He wasn’t going to think about it. He felt like he was losing his grip on reality just thinking about it. He was going to catch up on everything he’d missed the previous week and not think about werewolves, his boyfriend being one, or his father knowing about them. 

People stared as he walked in, confusing him.

He remembered a moment later. His face was still covered in multicolored bruises.

Lydia was standing in the doorway of her office, arms crossed. Her face was tense, brows pinched in a vee. “Stiles, we need to talk.”

“What about?” he muttered. 

People were still watching.

“About you coming back to work too early,” she said smoothly.

He relaxed. He _knew_ John was wrong about Lydia knowing about _werewolves._ It made no sense. “Okay.” He followed her into her office.

She shut the door, then the blinds. 

Nerves skittered up his spine. “Lydia?”

She moved to sit across from him. “Sheriff Stilinski just gave me a call.”

_Fuck._ “Okay.”

She sighed. “There’s no gentle way to do this, and I’m not gentle by nature anyhow. Talia Hale was a werewolf, an alpha, and so are Laura and Derek. She found them on the opposite side of the Beacon County preserve. Their original birth pack was killed by hunters. My grandmother was a banshee—don’t ask, we can discuss that later. She made sure Talia got custody of them because she knew they were better off with an alpha who could help them than a human foster family that wouldn’t understand them. I got this job largely due to nepotism,” she said. “I’m not particularly bothered by that, since I work hard and I would have earned it eventually. She wanted someone in charge that could ensure children like Laura and Derek would be protected as much as they needed to be.”

Stiles looked away. “So…are all the Hales…?”

“Werewolves? Yes. Boyd and Scott were turned later, after what I’m sure was a very long discussion and period of consideration.” 

“Wh…” Stiles opened and closed his hands. “Why Isaac…”

Lydia lifted a brow. “Excuse me?”

He shook his head. “Why were you so set on leaving Isaac with them? Aren’t they…dangerous?”

“No more than anyone else, I’d say.” She sighed quietly. “They bonded with Isaac, _Talia_ had bonded with Isaac, and their protective instincts are very strong. They’re loyal. Though I believe that has more to do with their upbringing than biology.” She drummed her fingers on the desk. “And, admittedly, I thought if Talia’s murderer had anything to do with Lahey, Isaac would be safer surrounded by a pack of werewolves set on protecting him.”

Stiles nodded.

Lydia leaned forward. “Questions?”

“Full moons?”

“Lots of energy, no forced changes.”

“Side burns?”

“Half-shift. Full shifts look like wolves. Legend says some werewolves who don’t get along in society will find a real wolf pack to live with instead.” She shrugged. “Don’t know if I believe that.”

“Do they eat livers?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe animal, if they wanted.”

He nodded, looking down at his lap. “Derek said he wouldn’t hurt me.”

Lydia said, “Oh, _Stiles_.”

“He had _fangs,_ Lydia! I think I was entitled to freak out!” He pulled his hand through his hair. 

She opened her mouth, paused, considered, and nodded. “That’s reasonable. Are you going to break up with him?”

His heart lurched painfully. “No! Why would I?”

Her brows arched. “The dazed panic, the way you ran away from him and refused to let him explain. For example.” 

“I was freaked out! I just—I needed to figure out what was happening!” He slumped in his chair. “But I don’t—I mean…what now?” 

“Well.” She waited until he met her gaze to continue. “I know Derek would be more than happy to answer any questions you have.”

“No, I mean…this is sort of a life altering revelation.” He scrubbed a hand over his head.

“Don’t think of it like that. It’s just something you didn’t know before that you learned. You don’t have an existential crisis every time you learn a new word, do you?”

He glared at her. “No, but this is _not_ the same thing as learning the word palimpsest.”

“Why not? It’s bigger, sure, but it’s still just new information. You can panic about it, or use it to expand your knowledge.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Do you have to be so level-headed?”

“Yes. It’s my job. Now get out of here. Seriously. You’re on paperwork duty _only_ , because those bruises are going to make kids cry. And you might as well just do it at home, since you’re just doing paperwork.” Before he could try to protest, she smiled deviously. “Also, you have a visitor.”

Someone knocked at the door that second.

He glared at her again. 

She held her hands up. “First floor reception may have texted me. Go on. While you’re busy, I’ll have your work compiled and sent to you so you can work on it at home.”

He sighed. “Alright. Thanks, Lydia.” 

“Of course.” She watched him try to collect himself. “Go on.” She flicked her gaze toward the door, touched her ear, and lifted her brows.

He huffed and stood. “Fine.” His shirt was wrinkled, tie askew, and hair a mess. Perfect. He went to the door and opened it.

Derek looked gutted. “Can we talk?” His voice was low and gentle, like he was speaking to a frightened child.

“Yeah, we’d better.”

Derek winced. He stepped aside to let Stiles out, leaving a wide berth between them.

Stiles lifted a brow, but decided not to comment. He’d reached a stage of dreamy acceptance, brought on by both his father and Lydia knowing and talking to them about it. He no longer felt like he was hallucinating, or experiencing a break from reality. 

Lydia was right.

He just had to get used to this new information, learn everything he could, and accept it.

He led the way to an empty conference room, stepping inside.

Derek sighed and closed the door. He stood on the far side, hands open at his sides. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he said slowly. “I just came to ask you, please, not to tell anyone about us. It could get us killed. I promise, I’ll keep my distance—we all will. I’m not going to hurt you-”

“Stop saying that,” Stiles snapped, annoyed. “I know you aren’t. Are you breaking up with me?” he demanded. 

Derek looked confused. “No?”

“Then why would you keep your distance?” He crossed his arms. “I freaked out, but can you blame me? There was a lot going on. I-” He shook his head. “I have a lot of questions, but I love you, and I want to know everything, including this, about you.” His face felt flushed, but he didn’t look way. It was a revelation he’d had when he’d spent most of the last week waking up next to Derek. The big reveal hadn’t changed his feelings, hadn’t made them even waver. _Must be love_ , he thought, smiling slightly. 

Derek sighed explosively; he stumbled forward a step, then stopped. He lifted his arms, his expression hopeful.

Stiles rolled his eyes and grabbed him, yanking him into a tight hug.

Derek pressed his face against the side of his neck, nuzzling in and breathing deeply. “I love you, too,” he said, muffled. “Do you want to go get lunch? So I can answer your questions?”

“Yeah.” Stiles pulled back enough to brush a kiss over his cheek. 

They went to the Main Street Diner, actual name, and got seats outside. Stiles needed some time to think about his questions, which Derek said he was fine with. 

He was more interested in the break-in, now that he knew Stiles wasn’t afraid of or repulsed by him. “It’s just—he’s gone after you twice. That makes me think he must be working with hunters. Especially coupled with what happened to you with Kate Argent. The Argents are an old hunting family,” he explained with a grimace. “They’re supposed to have a code, but all organizations have people who deviate.”

Stiles nodded. “Maybe that’s how Lahey and McCall broke out. Though I don’t get why.”

“Me neither.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “I don’t get why he keeps going after you, though. You’re barely connected to all of this, as far as he knows.” 

“Pissed off? I did play a part in him losing custody of Isaac permanently.”

Derek nodded, thoughtful. “You should come stay with us.”

Stiles blinked at him. “I just did.”

He shook his head. “Longer. Until we’re sure they’ve been arrested and you’re safe.”

“Like…move in? To your family’s house?”

Derek blinked and looked embarrassed. “Or stay with the sheriff. I just don’t think you should be alone right now. Just in case Lahey tries again.”

“Won’t your siblings mind if I just…temporarily move in?” he asked. “A week is one thing, this…could be a while…”

“No, they won’t mind. It’ll be fine.”

Stiles frowned. “Okay. If—I mean. Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Derek said firmly. “You’ll be safer with us.”

“Okay. I guess I have to pack some bags.” He thought about Lahey in his home. “Might call Dad to help me.”

Derek nodded. “Perfect. You two do that, and I’ll head to the house to clean out some space.”

So Stiles called John and tried to figure out what was more shocking—the fact that he was temporarily moving in with his boyfriend or the existence of werewolves.


	34. Chapter 34

Derek didn’t think his siblings would mind Stiles staying with them. After all, Stiles was in danger, and they weren’t _heartless._ However, he left Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski to pack and went to tell them anyway. Springing it on them was bad enough; not warning them at all was just rude. 

Plus, he had the small matter of Stiles being…in the know…to tell Laura. He was sure _that_ would go well. 

Laura met him at the door. “What’s going on?” She looked stressed, plucking at the end of her shirt. “Something is wrong, right? What is it?”

“Well, Lahey broke into Stiles’s apartment this morning.”

“Oh my god! Is he okay?”

Boyd and Scott rushed to the door, looking worried.

“Yeah, I got there before he could do anything. I, uh, invited Stiles to stay with us until Lahey is in custody,” he blurted. “He keeps going after Stiles.”

Boyd’s brows lifted.

Scott beamed.

Laura inhaled sharply. “Derek-”

And if that was bad, well. “Wait, there’s more. He, uh—also saw me shift. So, uh, he knows.” 

For a moment, Laura looked perfectly blank. She inhaled. Exhaled. “What? Why did you tell him? How did he see you? Are you _insane?_ The last thing we need right now is a social worker—Isaac’s social worker, no less—knowing the _family secret!_ ”

Derek waited, letting her get it out of her system. When she seemed done, he said, “I didn’t mean to. I was fighting Lahey and my fangs just sort of…came out.”

“How’d he take it?” Scott asked, struggling against a grin.

Derek winced. “Not great. At first. But he talked to Sheriff Stilinski and…” He felt a goofy smile slip over his face. “And he said he loves me and that he wanted to know everything.”

Laura’s face softened. She sighed. “Alright. I’d rather he be safe here than a target at home, anyway.”

He sighed. “Thank you.”

She dragged him into a hug. “I’m happy for you.”

He felt Boyd and Scott join the hug and smiled. 

Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski arrived an hour later, in separate cars. Stiles was in the jeep, apparently deciding he wouldn’t need the sedan any time soon. Derek had already cleared out some drawers and closet space for Stiles, as well as clearing off his sorely underused desk. 

“Thank you,” Sheriff Stilinski said, clasping Derek’s shoulder. 

“It’s no problem. We’ll help you guys get everything in. We, uh.” Derek’s face flushed. “We don’t have an extra room so, um, we’re just. Putting Stiles’s stuff with me.”

Thankfully, Sheriff Stilinski seemed amused by Derek’s stammering. “Okay, son, we’ll get right on that.”

Stiles hadn’t brought much—mostly clothes, perishable food, some files, and his laptop—and Boyd and Scott were a little too eager to help him, so it was all in pretty quickly. 

“Just go ahead and get settled,” Derek said, backing out of his bedroom.

“Thank you.” Stiles smiled at him; it made the bruises on his face stand out even more vividly. They were a week old, and they were turning green and yellow around the edges, but they were still pretty bad. The swelling had gone down though.

Derek made himself smile back before he left the room. He nearly ran into Laura. 

She was standing outside of Talia’s closed bedroom door, staring at it. She smelled sad, her shoulders curved in like the weight of her grief had shrunken her. 

Derek stepped up beside her. 

“We have to clean it out sometime,” she said in a wavering voice.

“Not yet.” Derek couldn’t handle it yet. 

She pressed her shoulder into his. “No. Not yet.”

Stiles cooked dinner to thank them that evening, though they told him it wasn’t necessary. He insisted, and made a cheesy chicken casserole, topped with tater tots he found in the freezer. 

Boyd made green beans and carrots to go with it, and Scott and Laura volunteered to do the dishes. After they ate, Stiles helped Isaac with his homework, then disappeared into Derek’s room to work for a little while. 

Derek found himself leaning against the door frame, watching him work at Derek’s desk. It was nice, he realized. It was nice having Stiles in his space, having him so close at all times. 

Boyd said, “Stop creeping on your boyfriend,” from the living room. 

Scott chortled. “Come watch this movie with us. It’s terrible.”

Stiles glanced up, most likely at the sound of Scott’s laughter, since they were speaking quietly. He smiled. “Everything okay?”

“Yep. I’m just gonna go watch a movie with Scott and Boyd.”

“Okay.” He smiled again before turning back to his work.

Derek sighed softly.


	35. Chapter 35

Derek watched from the porch, arms crossed, as men in uniforms tore up the far left corner of the backyard. He’d finally given in and hired a company to install an outdoor court—with the rest of his siblings’ permission, of course. It was just hard to watch.

Not as hard as for Laura, who _hated_ having a group of strangers on the property, let alone ripping up the grass.

Derek winced and looked away.

“Already having second thoughts?” Scott teased. He stood next to Derek on the porch, grinning.

“And third, fourth, and fifth.” He shook his head. “I just can’t help but wonder if Mom…if she’d have hated it. If she would have been mad that I did this.”

Scott shook his head. “Nah. She wouldn’t have. She would be happy that we’re bonding with Isaac, and that you’re so determined to help him have fun.” He shrugged. “Plus, you know she hated video games. She’d be thrilled you’re getting him outside.”

Derek snorted. “That’s true, I guess.” He sighed. “How’s it going inside?”

“Oh, Laura’s helping Stiles with dinner. Boyd’s coming home in a couple hours and Stiles said he’s done all his work, so he’s bored. We’re having a big dinner tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Yep.” Scott grinned. “He’s teaching Laura to make homemade biscuits.” 

Derek laughed, imagining it. “Yeah, that sounds like it’ll go well.” He tipped his head back, tuning into the sound of Stiles’s voice. 

It sounded like Isaac had joined them in the kitchen, curious about Laura’s failed biscuit attempts. 

Derek couldn’t blame him.

“Come on. I’m sure we can help, too. And you can let those guys do their jobs.” 

Derek rolled his eyes and followed him inside. 

Stiles grinned at them. “Perfect. We can get an assembly line going. Wash your hands, please.”

Scott was put on potato-peeling duty; Derek was given the rest of the vegetables and told to get slicing.

Isaac stuck his tongue out and helped Laura arrange biscuit dough on a baking sheet. 

“What’re we making?” Derek asked. He didn’t look up from the carrots he was cutting as evenly as he could.

“We’re having pot roast,” Stiles replied. “I wanted to get a little traditional, I had a craving.”

“We invited Erica and Lana over,” Laura said. Her tone had Derek looking up suspiciously.

“Okay…that’s nice.”

“We think so.” Stiles looked entirely too pleased.

Laura simply looked mischievous.

Derek looked at Scott, but he just shrugged, as lost as Derek. 

Erica and Lana showed up while they were finishing. 

“Can I take Lana out back to play?” Isaac asked immediately. 

“Sure, but stay out of the workers’ way, okay?” 

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lana went with Isaac willingly enough, babbling at him about her day.

“Hey.” Erica smiled sympathetically at Stiles. “Somehow, it looks worse than it did before.”

“Pft, this is way better. Green means it’s healing!”

She laughed. “If you say so.”

“Boyd says so.”

Erica turned a little pink. “Is he gonna be home for dinner?” she asked casually.

Laura smirked. “Yep. He’s going back in before dawn, so he’ll be home earlier than usual tonight.” 

Erica nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I see. That’s great!”

“Isn’t it?”

Derek rolled his eyes and went over to Stiles. He set a hand on his waist and kissed his cheek. “Need any more help?”

Stiles turned and gave him a kiss on the mouth. “Nope. All that’s left is to put it in the oven. There’s snacks and stuff, this is going to take a few hours. That’s why I started so early,” he explained.

“Got it.”

Scott suddenly bolted from the kitchen, pounding up the stairs. 

Stiles watched him go, looking exasperated. “So, Isaac gets his stealth skills from Scott.”

Laura laughed. “Yeah, they’re graceless.”

“I heard both of you, and I just want to say that I’m _offended!_ ” Scott shouted. 

Stiles snorted.

Derek leaned in to nuzzle his neck.

After a week, two, really, of living with them, he smelled like the whole pack. Mostly himself and Derek, obviously, but the pack always smelled like a single, separate thing, and the scent clung to Stiles like he was a part of it.

Stiles palmed the back of Derek’s head, scratching his scalp lightly before pushing him away. “Go find something to do. I’ve gotta finish this.”

Derek ducked in for one more kiss before stepping back, grinning. 

“Ugh,” Erica said. “You two are sickeningly cute.” She lifted a brow when Derek looked at her. Her expression made it abundantly clear he would be getting cornered sometime soon.

Scott thumped back down the stairs. He had several packages in his arms, expression gleeful. “Water balloons!” 

“Scott,” Laura said disapprovingly. 

His face fell.

“At least ask Erica if it’s okay.”

He swung around to look at her.

She grinned. “Sure. Just—not too rough, okay?”

“Of course!” Scott ran outside.

Derek lasted about a minute before following him. Erica and Laura joined them ten minutes later, followed by Stiles, who’d set a timer on his phone for the food. Derek immediately pelted him in the chest with a balloon. 

“Dick!” he gasped. He ran to the bucket Scott was still filling and grabbed a red balloon. Instead of throwing it, he ran up to Derek. “We should team up,” he said, surprising him. “Since you have an unfair advantage.”

Derek glanced at Erica, panicked, but she was too far away to hear. “What did you have in mind?”

Stiles stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I was thinking…” And then he lifted his arms, clapping his hands above Derek’s head and bursting the balloon. 

Derek sputtered, then glared at him. “It’s on now, you better _run_.”

Stiles laughed and ran for Scott.

They were all soaked and cheerful when Boyd got home. He came around the side of the house instead of going through.

Derek saw why a second too late.

Boyd sprayed them all with the hose, cackling as they all howled with indignation.

Lana bravely raced over to him, roaring, and threw herself at his legs. 

He laughed and dropped the hose to scoop her up. “I think you won.”

“I won!” she shrieked, kissing his cheek. She put her arms around his neck and squeezed. 

Derek just stood watching as his usually serious older brother turned into a puddle at the hands of a three-year-old.

Stiles caught his hand. “Cute, aren’t they?” he breathed. 

They both watched as Erica went to retrieve Lana, apologizing profusely. “She got your shirt all wet,” she said, sounding embarrassed. 

“It’s fine. I was going to change before dinner anyway.” Boyd turned his head to smile down at Lana, who was still clinging to him. “Did you get everybody, Warrior Queen?”

She laughed, delighted. “Yeah! I got Isaac all wet and Laura let me ride on her shoulders! We got everyone!”

“Wow! Even Scott?”

“Yeah!”

“Even Derek?”

“Yeah!” 

Stiles nudged Derek. “Sorry, I gotta check the roast.”

“Let’s get changed first.”

“Sure.” He smirked.

They got a little distracted as they were changing into dry clothes, but the roast was fine when they remerged twenty minutes later.

Erica was wearing some of Laura’s clothes, which were a little too long for her, and Lana was wearing a large t-shirt, running around with Isaac. 

“I tossed your stuff in the dryer,” Laura said. “Sorry those are so big.”

Erica plucked at the overlong sleeves. “That’s alright. We can’t all be Amazons,” she laughed.

“Food’s almost done!” Stiles called. “Erica, is Lana picky about the way her food is arranged?”

Erica jumped up. “Yeah, I brought her plate. She doesn’t like it to touch, and she’s in this anti-orange phase… Orange food causes meltdowns, it’s fun.”

“Even candy?” Isaac inquired.

“Yep.” Erica went to the kitchen to help Stiles.

Isaac looked down at Lana like she was an unfathomable mystery.

Derek had to laugh.

Erica left after dinner, carrying Lana, who was out cold. She thanked them in a whisper, lingering with Boyd for a few extra seconds before sighing and wishing them all goodnight. 

She was gone maybe ten minutes when Stiles started swearing in the kitchen.

“What?” Derek asked, rushing for him. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot to give Erica this recipe. Fuck. I promised.” He squinted at the clock, then looked at Boyd. “You know where Erica lives, right?”

Boyd looked startled. “What? Why?” He sounded almost nervous.

“Please, please, could you take this recipe to her? I completely forgot.” Stiles wasn’t lying…exactly, but he seemed…deceptive somehow, the nuances of his scent going smoky. He looked at Boyd, then away. “It’s fine. You can just tell me the address, I’ll take it to her right now.” He rubbed at his forehead, wincing. “So stupid of me to forget.”

Boyd shook himself. “Uh—it’s fine, I can take it.’

Stiles beamed. 

Derek kept his face blank as Stiles all but danced Boyd out the door. “Want to tell me why you got him out the door fast enough that he didn’t have time to wonder why you didn’t just text her that super important recipe?”

Stiles’s face turned red. “I—uh…”

Scott, in the kitchen still, started laughing. “Is that why you and Laura were whispering earlier?” He bounded out to the living room. “You guys were trying to set them up?”

Stiles crossed his arms defensively. “They like each other! Neither of them is doing anything about it! I thought, you know, if they had a chance to talk, alone, maybe they’d realize it.”

Derek laughed and pulled Stiles into a hug. “Ah, man, I’d pay money for the look on Boyd’s face when he goes to deliver that recipe and Erica has no clue what he’s talking about.”

Stiles squeaked against his shoulder. 

He laughed again. “Come on, let’s go watch Isaac lose at his game.” He pulled him to the couch and sat snugged up against his side. 

“Hey!” Isaac protested. “I’m still learning! Ally said she was just as bad when she first started.”

“Uh-huh. We believe you.”

Isaac kicked his leg lightly, laughing, and went back to his game.

Scott joined them a couple minutes later with his knitting stuff; he’d really gotten into it after they’d showed him how.

Boyd still hadn’t returned by nine.

Derek pressed a kiss to the corner of Stiles’s mouth, enchanted by his smug smirk.


	36. Chapter 36

“Wait, wait, Boyd, your wallet!” Stiles called. He grabbed the wallet from the top of the fridge, spotted Isaac’s lunch bag beside it, and grabbed that, too. “Here.” He tossed the wallet. 

Laura grabbed the lunch bag and ran out the side door to catch Derek before he and Isaac left for the school. 

“Thanks!” Boyd was on morning shifts at the ER, so Laura was letting him go alone. He waved with the egg burrito Scott had made everyone for breakfast and ducked out. 

“I’m going now, I’ll be back later!” Scott called. 

Stiles saw him talking to Laura in the driveway and waited. 

Laura came back inside after he left. She looked happy. “Scott’s going to the local vet to see about getting a job here.” She beamed. “I guess he’s thinking about moving back.”

Stiles grinned. “That’s great!” He looked back toward the living room. It looked a little like a tornado had torn through it. “We’ve got a pretty good system.”

“ _Don’t_ we? I love it. So efficient.” She flopped onto the couch, then made a face. She pulled an Xbox controller out from under her leg. She set it aside. 

Stiles sat in the arm chair to the right of the couch. “Got any plans for the day?” He still wasn’t allowed back at work yet, despite his bruises being mostly healed. Lydia was insisting on another week; he was pushing to return in half that. 

“I spoke to the owner of the Beacon Gazette, Rosalind Mills, about taking over.” She grinned. “Her editor-in-chief, Joyce White, is retiring and most of the staff—hell, none of the staff are equipped to step up.” She bounced her left leg.

“I’m guessing it went well?”

“Got the job! I start Wednesday, and I fully expect the entire staff to hate me, since they probably wanted someone they knew to be editor.”

“Are you worried about it?”

She grinned, sharp and dangerous. “Nope. I have plans for the Gazette. They can get on board or get out.” 

Stiles leaned forward, interested. “What kind of plans?”

She waved her hand. “I’m still ruminating most of them.” She tipped her head. “Derek’s home. I’m surprised your father hasn’t given him like ten speeding tickets.”

Stiles laughed. “I’m sure he’ll get around to it.”

Laura got up. “I’ll be right back.” She patted his shoulder as she went by. 

Derek came inside and dropped his keys on the table next to the door. He grinned at Stiles and crossed to him. He didn't pause; he climbed into the chair and curled up against his chest. “Morning.”

Stiles laughed. “Good morning.” He nuzzled down against Derek’s hair, breathing him in. Stiles was getting used to living here, with the Hales. He was getting accustomed to Isaac pounding down the stairs like a rhinoceros on meth, and Scott’s complete inability to cook anything other than breakfast without burning it beyond recognition. He was getting used to Boyd’s quiet humming when he was thinking, and Laura’s restlessness that matched his own, but most of all, he was getting comfortable having Derek around all the time. Waking up with him, sharing cooking and cleaning duties, helping out with Isaac’s homework together, just being around each other without having to _do_ anything.

Stiles couldn’t help wondering how he was going to live without this once the threat had passed. 

Derek made a quiet humming noise, rubbing his cheek against Stiles’s shoulder. “I hate getting up early,” he mumbled.

“I know.” Stiles tugged at his hair lightly until he tilted his head back and kissed him.

Derek leaned back after a few minutes to smile at him.

Stiles smiled back.

Laura returned to the room. “No, don’t leave,” she said quickly when they jumped. “I wanted to run this by both of you.”

“Okay…”

“But get off each other, that’s just too much.” She waved the notepad she was carrying. “So I have a plan for the Gazette that has less to do with town goings-on, and more to do with using the paper for good.”

Derek moved to sit on the floor beside Stiles’s legs. “Okay…explain.”

“Gladly. I want to make a network of communication for supernaturals in the area. It’s ridiculous how hard it is to find information to keep us safe,” she plowed on when they didn’t react. “I think if I could put relevant information in it, it could help a lot of people. People like us.”

“That’s a great idea,” Stiles blurted, nearly tipping forward off the chair. “Oh, that’s perfect. No, really,” he added when she looked skeptical. “I’ve been thinking about stuff like that, too, and I want to talk to Lydia about this. Between Lydia and myself, we could make sure supernatural kids go to supernatural foster parents rather than mundane foster care. With your network, we could have a pretty good support system for the program.”

Derek looked up at him, surprised. “When did you start thinking about that?”

Stiles frowned. “Um, after Lydia told me how her grandmother got involved to make sure you and Laura got to stay with Talia.” He smiled uneasily. “I figured there’s probably more supernatural kids who need help than I realized, and with me knowing, she can pass their cases to me.”

“Smart,” Laura said approvingly. “So I’ve been making a list of things I could use the paper to communicate. Births, deaths, engagements, treaties. The arrival and departure of hunters and their movements in territories. Packs and groups passing through, missing people, everything.”

Derek nodded eagerly. “That would be useful, and since it’s print, there shouldn’t be too much online to get to, if anyone were looking.” 

“Right. I can use my personal laptop to keep the information and articles on, keep it private so no one can see it.” Laura made a note on her notepad. “I’m going to use Mom’s contacts to make a subscription list, of sorts. That way if anyone finds it, it just looks like…an evening edition of the newspaper instead of anything odd.”

Stiles grinned. “A midnight edition.”

She nodded at him. “I was thinking of calling it the Midnight Gazette, actually. Obviously, I have ideas for the mundane edition, as well, but that won’t be as hard to implement.”

“I want in,” Stiles said firmly. “I can get Lydia involved, too, she must also have contacts.” 

Derek nodded. “I want to help, too.”

“Thank you, guys. First let me get set up and actually at the job, then we’ll work out the details.” She bounced on her toes. “I can’t believe this, but I’m excited to be staying in Beacon Hills for the first time in _forever._ ” She ruffled Derek’s hair and left the room, muttering to herself about preparing a pitch.

Stiles looked down at Derek, grinning. “Going into the newspaper business? Is that going to cut into your racing time?” he teased.

Derek’s shoulders tensed.

Stiles frowned. What had he said?

Derek shook it off, whatever it was. “Nah. Nothing could do that. Let’s go make lunch.”

Stiles laughed. “You just finished breakfast!” But he went with him anyway.


	37. Chapter 37

Derek paced the hallway. He usually wasn’t the one who paced; usually he kept still, as if physically holding his body motionless would bring frantic thoughts to a halt. Now he couldn’t manage it.

“We won’t throw anything out,” Laura promised. She was in the living room with everyone else, while Derek paced the dining room. “We’re just packing it up. We can go through it together, once it’s all packed, and decide what to get rid of.” 

“We could help you,” Scott said. “You don’t have to do it alone.” He sounded congested. 

Derek stopped pacing. He scrubbed his hand over his face. 

“We’ve got it, Scott. Just go, have fun, and we’ll have it done by the time you guys get home.” 

Stiles was out there with them, too. He spoke up. “We’ll just go meet Erica and Lana at the park, guys. We can get ice cream.”

Isaac breathed, “Yes!” and made Derek smile faintly. 

“We aren’t children,” Boyd said. His voice was stiff in the way it usually was when he was trying to hide his emotions. 

“That isn’t-” Stiles began, sounding horrified.

“He meant me,” Laura said quickly. “I don’t think you are.”

“We can help you,” Boyd pressed. “You don’t have to do everything yourselves.”

“We aren’t,” Laura said, firm. “We’re just packing it up, airing out the room, and cleaning up the dust. We’ll go through it together.”

Derek looked around the corner.

Scott let out a long breath and threw his arms around Laura. He pressed his face against her shoulder. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “I didn’t really want to do it.”

“I know.” She patted his back and gave him a squeeze before letting go. She looked at Boyd. 

He shrugged. “Fine,” he muttered 

And then they were gone, leaving Derek and Laura alone in the house. He wanted them back, wanted Stiles to hold his hand and Boyd to be a wall of silent strength behind him, and Scott to be sunnily optimistic about it all. 

Laura met him in the hallway. She had broken down cardboard boxes under her arm, a roll of tape on her wrist, and three thick, black Sharpies clutched in hand.

They faced the door to Talia’s room together. They hadn’t opened it since just before the funeral, when they’d had to find something for her to wear.

Derek thought it was stupid. She was a dead werewolf. She’d barely cared what she wore while alive. Dead, he imagined she cared even less.

Laura swallowed. “Can’t stand here forever,” she announced, and stepped up to the door. She grabbed the handle, squared her shoulders, and twisted it. The door fell open.

Derek dug claws into the sides of his legs as Talia’s scent washed over them.

It was stale but this had been her bedroom for decades, and the scent of her was deeply sunk into everything. 

There were still clothes in the hamper, her bed was still half-unmade, there was an empty water glass on her nightstand and an open book. 

Laura let out a quiet, sad sound. “Okay,” she said. She cleared her throat. “We’re okay.” She gestured. “We’ll start with the closet, okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek rasped, and they got to work. It was quiet for a while, just them and their memories, folding Talia’s clothes into boxes. Derek found a sheet of paper in the pocket of a worn leather jacket, all folded up. He unraveled it and found several phone numbers written neatly in black, then crossed out in red. 

The edge of the paper was jagged, like she’d ripped it out of her address book. Contacts whose numbers no longer worked or were dead. 

He looked up at Laura. “Mom would _love_ what you’re doing at the Gazette,” he told her. He ran his thumb over the numbers while Laura stared at him. “She’d be so impressed. She used to-” his breath hitched. “Remember how she’d be up all night making calls if she thought there was a hunter in town?” He looked at Talia’s bed. Many nights had been spent huddled there with Laura in the beginning, waiting for Talia to tell them whether they all had to run or not.

“Yeah, I remember.” Laura looked at the shirt she’d been trying to fold. “If I’d have stayed here instead of going to LA, maybe we would have known about the hunters before she was killed.”

“Or they’d have just killed you, too.” Derek shrugged when she glared at him.

“I just meant, if I’d have stayed here and started this years ago, maybe it could’ve been prevented.” She shrugged, then sniffled. She squeezed the shirt between her hands. “I miss her,” she whispered.

“Me, too.” Derek swallowed. 

Laura moved to get more clothes a few minutes later. Something thumped, making her yelp. “Fuck, ow!”

He turned his head. “What happened?”

“Ugh, one of Mom’s photo albums fell on my foot.” She emerged holding it. “Looks like yours from ages nine through eleven.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Great.”

She snickered and sat beside him. She flipped it open to a random page and laughed. “Halloween, fifth grade. Look how cute you were!”

He glanced at the picture and groaned. “Wasn’t I a ninja like three years in a row?”

“Yep. Precious.”

“You were the green Power Ranger twice!”

“The green ranger is awesome,” she sniffed. “Plus, look, Mom dressed as a bad guy for us both times.” 

Derek looked and felt his heart squeeze at the reminder. 

“We have to find Boyd’s goth-phase album,” she said. She dropped the book in Derek’s lap.

He flipped through it, wincing every time he found a new hair phase. He didn’t know how he’d survived with Laura around, looking like that.

Then again, Laura had gotten a perm when she was fourteen, so she really had no room to talk.

He flipped closer to the end and found a picture out of place. It was of him standing outside of his plane, arms up as he got his score for the trick riding competition he’d just finished. 

He remembered it—that was his first one. He’d sent the picture to Talia along with the dumb metals they gave out. 

“She was proud of you,” Laura said from over his shoulder.

He shrugged. 

“She was,” she insisted. “She said she was so proud that you loved what you did so much.” 

“Those,” he said as he closed the album, “are two very different things.”

She hit his shoulder. “No they aren’t.”

“Yep.”

“What is your problem?” she demanded. 

Derek finally looked at her. “Mom didn’t like that I raced. I…” He swallowed, furious at himself for still being upset about it. “I sent her invites and tickets to my first few races and competitions, but she would never come.” He looked away. 

Laura giggled.

His gaze snapped up, the hurt returning full force. “What’s so funny?” he snarled.

She put a hand over her mouth, eyes dancing. “I’m not—not laughing at _you_.” She gasped, wiping her face. “Mom was scared absolutely _shitless_ of planes, Derek!” She collapsed into laughter.

Derek shook his head. “What? No, she wasn’t. Mom wasn’t afraid of anything.”

She giggled more. “Oh, yes, she was. She’d call me every time you sent her tickets and ask if I thought you were doing it to get back at her for making you eat your vegetables.” She wiped tears out of her eyes. “She wouldn’t go because she was afraid,” she continued quietly, “that seeing one of her kids up there would make her lose control in public.”

Derek couldn’t detect a lie. He shook his head. “Mom was afraid of _planes?_ ” He just couldn’t picture it.

Laura nodded eagerly. “She goddamn nearly shit a _brick_ when you announced you’d be racing planes.”

Derek laughed, now that he could see the memory from a new angle. He felt a little lighter as they got back to the album Laura had brought out.

They were still looking through photo albums when they heard Scott and Boyd run up to the house. They came in together.

“You’re early,” Laura sniffled. “We haven’t finished.”

“We know.” Scott hovered in the doorway, his eyes round and sad. 

Boyd stepped around him and into the room. “Stiles sent us back. He said that we should do this together.”

Scott nodded. “He said it was important.”

Laura wiped tears off her cheeks. “What about Isaac?” 

“He didn’t want to come. I think he just…doesn’t know how to deal with it. He barely knew her, but she protected him. You know?”

Derek nodded. “We were just looking at some pictures.”

Laura grinned. “We found Boyd in sophomore year of high school.”

Boyd _lunged_ , tackling her and snatching the book. “No,” he said evenly, “you didn’t.” He sat on Laura’s legs and kept the book tucked against his chest.

Derek looked up at Scott.

Scott grinned back at him.

They jumped on Boyd at the same time. 

It took four hours to fully pack up Talia’s room. Laura decided they would keep her stuff in the attic for the time being, and would discuss donating it later, when they’d had a little more time. They spent another hour going through the hundreds—maybe more—of photos Talia had of them growing up.

“We’re going to do one for Isaac, right?” Scott asked.

“Of course,” Derek said instantly. “He’s a Hale. He can’t escape it.”

Laura nodded. “Stiles has to be ready to kill us for leaving them out so long. Someone tell him they can come back.” She had dust smeared across the bridge of her nose and under her left eye. 

Derek wasn’t going to mention it.

“He and Isaac got dinner with Erica and Lana,” Boyd reported, looking at his phone. “They’re bringing us pizza.” 

Scott looked at Derek, awed. “Marry him,” he said seriously.

Damned if Derek wasn’t thinking about it.


	38. Chapter 38

Stiles was so thrilled to be back at work that he kept getting strange looks from everyone in the office. He understood; as far as they knew, he’d been mugged and had been working from home while he healed. He figured they’d get over it. He had work to catch up on. He touched base with the Escue family (Kenny had joined the high school track team and had promptly brained himself on a hurdle that wasn’t even on the track, and Darcy had fallen into a table filled with snacks during her Girl Scouts meeting), called and left a message for the Mitchels, and spoke to the middle school about Terry Abrams’ attendance issues. 

He answered all of his emails before lunch, had three meetings after, and helped a foster parent file adoption papers for the abandoned three year old she’d been caring for.

“You’re on a roll,” Lydia said when he brought her a copy for her own records.

“Glad to be back.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re shifting my cases over to other social workers.”

“Most of them,” she admitted.

“Why?”

She lifted a brow. “I wanted your plate empty so that you can take any…special cases we get. Those kids don’t get many social workers who really _know_ them, and I think it will benefit them a lot to have someone who knows helping them out.”

Stiles nodded. “Good, because I’m eager to get started with that. I have plans. Laura has plans.”

Lydia smirked. “Yes, I know. I’ve emailed her a list of potential subscribers. That will be a very useful paper, though I believe making a website would be more convenient.”

“It’d run the risk of being seen by the wrong people. Hunters,” he said in a low voice.

“True.” She gestured at him. “Go finish things up. Tomorrow, you’ll have at least two new cases to get started with.”

“Yes!” He held his hands out. “Please don’t demote me. I’m going. Thank you.” 

Stiles worked late. He knew he shouldn’t, and that he’d probably burn himself out, but Lydia was right—the clearer his plate was, the more he could focus on the kids who needed his help.

Lydia called out a goodnight as she left, which Stiles replied to vaguely. 

He’d already texted Derek to let him know he’d be home late, and he just had one more email to send, scheduling a meeting with a Mr. Schaffer about finding a therapist for his teenage daughter. He hummed as he typed, promising to have a selection of doctors who accepted his insurance ready for him. Stiles paused, head tilting. 

He wondered if there were any therapists for the supernatural. He’d have to ask Lydia. He finished his email and stood, already thinking about the various services he could put together for supernatural kids with supernatural problems. He forgot his keys and had to double back. 

The security officer waiting on him glowered.

“Sorry, Deb, I’m done, I swear.” He made an X over his heart. “I’ll bring you coffee tomorrow morning.”

She cracked a smile. “And a bagel.”

“On my honor.”

“You have none.”

“You’re right, but I’ll have the bagel.” He waved and clambered into his car. His cell rang as he buckled in. He started the car to get the air going before he took it out of his pocket. He glanced at the number and frowned when he didn’t recognize it. He cleared his throat and answered, “Hello, Stilinski speaking.”

A burst of static greeted him. “ _—iles? Can you—m—please?_ ”

Stiles frowned. “Who is this? Speak up please.”

“ _Stiles,_ ” Isaac gasped, briefly clear through the static. “ _My—is here—locked in the—room—help me,_ ” he sobbed. 

Stiles’s heart seized. “You’re at the school? Isaac, are you alone?”

“ _No—dad,_ ” he whimpered. A click, and the line went dead.

“Fuck!” Stiles threw his car into reverse and flew out of his parking spot. He knocked into the curb on his way out of the lot, but he didn’t slow down.

The school was only ten minutes from his office. Every minute felt like an hour, felt like he was crawling rather than going twelve over the speed limit. He parked haphazardly and ran up to the front doors, but they were locked. Of course they were locked. He looked around and spotted a fire exit hanging open.

He bolted to it, only to pull up short. 

The door was hooked up to a fire alarm, but the wires had been pulled out and messed with. 

Stiles had to assume it wasn’t done by middle schoolers. He reached for his phone. 

Something swung at him, catching him across the stomach.

He doubled over, his vision going out briefly.

A hand dug into his hair and yanked him upright. “Hey, you little shit. Stay awake.” Lahey slapped him.

Stiles threw his whole weight at him. They went down in a tangle, grunting and rolling over the tile floor.

“Lahey, you useless prick,” a woman sighed. A swift kick to the ribs had Stiles yelping and tumbling away. 

Lahey grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him, kicking and swearing, to an open door. “Wait here,” he growled. “I’ll be back for you and my kid later.”

Stiles leaped up, then jumped back, his hands falling.

Kate Argent had a gun leveled at him. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she said with a smile. “We don’t kill people.” She turned her head. “Get the car, Lahey,” she barked. 

Lahey glowered. “I want to knock the fucking smirk off his face.”

“Just shut up. McCall already fucked up and got caught. You almost did the exact same thing. Go. Get. The. Car.”

“McCall is a moron!”

Kate pointed.

Lahey stomped away.

Kate looked at Stiles and smiled again. “Don’t worry. He’ll be back in jail for good pretty soon. Like I said.” Her gaze flicked over Stiles’s shoulder. “We don’t kill _people._ ”

His breath hitched. The Hales. She was going to kill them while he was locked in here. 

She stepped back and slammed the door right as he ran at it.

He tried the knob.

“Oh, we already fixed that,” Kate called cheerfully. “See you later, _Mr._ Stilinski.”

He kicked the door and swore. He took out his phone, dialing 911. The call didn’t even try to go through. It was just like the fucking park bathroom all over again. He looked at the door. He wouldn’t be surprised if Kate had used a signal blocker both times.

Stiles looked around. He was in an art room; his gaze locked on the closet. He ran to it. “Isaac?”

A muffled gasp. “Stiles?” His breath stuttered. “Please let me out, I—I don’t—I don’t like small—it’s dark.” He started crying again. 

Stiles tried the knob. He was unsurprised to find it jammed. “I’m going to get you out, okay? But you have to wait, so try to calm down, Isaac.”

“Okay.” His tear-choked voice broke Stiles’s heart. “Don’t leave,” he gasped. 

“I won’t, I promise. I’ll be in the room the whole time.” He looked around, dragging his hands through his hair. Unless he was going to somehow get the door open with paintbrushes or pastels, he didn’t see anything useful. He walked to the window and pulled his phone out again. Still no reception. 

He had a text from Derek that’d come in when he’d been driving. 

He’d asked if Stiles could pick up more rolls for dinner on his way home. Erica and Lana were joining them for dinner and they needed a few more. 

Stiles clamped his hand over his mouth to keep his reaction silent. 

Erica and the baby would be at the house. All of the Hales, Erica, the baby. 

Kate was going to kill them all.

He knew she didn’t actually care about killing people if they got in her way. 

Stiles felt panic threatening to strangle him. He let it. He gripped his phone and rode it out. He had to get Isaac out, and they had to warn their family. They had to save them. He sucked in a breath, counting until he stopped shaking. Then he started searching the room.


	39. Chapter 39

Derek checked his phone for the third time. Nothing. He frowned and glared out at the driveway. He hadn’t heard back from Stiles and it’d been more than long enough for him to have gotten home, even if he’d stopped at the grocery store first. 

If he hadn’t left work yet, he’d have replied. He was usually very good at communicating, especially lately. 

Derek put his phone away and made himself go sit on the couch.

Isaac had texted him earlier to let him know that he, Allison, and “some other kids” were having a study party hosted by the school, and that he’d be late.

Derek wasn’t sure he believed that; he was pretty sure Isaac and Allison were just hanging out. He’d have to talk to Isaac about that, tell him it was okay if he wanted to hang out with his friends. It was not okay to lie about it.

Laura poked her head into the living room “Hey, we’ll live without extra rolls. Come eat. Dinner’s ready.” 

Beyond her, Lana shouted, “Blue!” and made Boyd laugh.

“You guys eat,” Derek said. “I’ll wait for Stiles.” 

She shot him a pained smile. “Ugh. Don’t starve. He’s excited to be back at work, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” He turned his head to keep watching the driveway.

Laura sighed sharply and went back to the dining room.

“Blue! Blue! Blue!” Lana chanted. 

Laura said, “Purple,” which was apparently toddler-ese for a declaration of war.

Lana shrieked, “ _BLUE!_ ” and something clattered.

“Sorry!” Erica gasped.

Laura, Scott, and Boyd were too busy laughing to respond. 

Derek checked his phone again.

Nothing.

He texted Isaac that he should maybe start heading home. Then he reminded himself to give the kid a minute to respond before freaking out. 

He was with friends and probably not checking his phone every two seconds. 

Something moved out of the corner of his eye. He looked up sharply, squinting at the window, but he didn’t see anything.

His phone beeped. 

‘ _Ok. Allisons aunt is driving me home :)_ ’

Derek sighed. Now if only Stiles would respond, he’d be able to freaking _relax._

Movement.

He stood this time, going to the window. He clenched his jaw. If he saw nothing, he was going to the dining room with everyone else. There was no use obsessing over noth-

Light flickered. Just a brief, weak flash in the dark cover of the trees.

Derek bared his teeth, watching, listening. He cocked his head. 

A man’s voice, low and indistinct in the distance.

It had to be Lahey.

Derek snarled under his breath. 

In the dining room, Boyd laughed at something Lana said; Erica’s quiet, content sigh was only just audible over it.

Fury boiled Derek’s blood. How dare this man keep trying to disrupt the life Isaac was trying to have, trying to build after he’d had his childhood taken from him?

Derek wouldn’t allow it. He went outside quietly, walking on the balls of his feet. He inhaled, caught the faintest whiff of human sweat, and set off in silent, predatory pursuit.

Whoever it was—Lahey almost definitely, but Derek couldn’t seem to catch a good enough scent to be sure—realized he was behind them. They bolted. 

Derek gave chase. He’d been running through this preserve since he was a child. Lahey didn’t stand a chance. He leaped over bramble, ducked low branches, dodged tilting trees. He felt his fangs slide out, mouth filling with saliva at the thrill of the hunt.

Smoke drifted through the scent of the trees. 

Derek stopped dead.

Realization dropped over him like lead. Horror, fear.

Smoke and ash.

He’d left them all, hadn’t warned anyone.

_Again._

He twisted and ran back, shoes sliding over the grass. 

The scent of smoke grew stronger the closer he got to the house, but it wasn’t thick yet, maybe he had time, maybe—

He pulled up short. 

A woman with blonde hair waved at him.

Beside her was an older man, smirking and holding a shotgun in the crook of his arm. 

They stank of smoke and wolfsbane.

Derek snarled.

The woman laughed. “Cute. We’re just here to finish what Dad started.”

The man laughed, too. 

Derek’s blood went cold. He recognized that laugh.


	40. Chapter 40

The fucking window wouldn’t break. Stiles stopped trying when he heard Isaac make a familiar, breathless sound. He went to the closet. “Isaac? You okay?”

Isaac wheezed. 

“Fuck,” Stiles breathed. “I’m going to get you out, Isaac, I promise. I just have to find something to open the door.”

He whimpered. 

“I used to get panic attacks when I was around your age,” Stiles said. He went to the teacher’s desk and hoped they had some kind of tool or wire hanger or _something_ he could use. “I can keep talking, do you want me to keep talking to you?”

“Yes,” Isaac rasped, “please.” 

Stiles opened a drawer and rifled through. “My mom died when I was twelve, and that kind of messed me and my dad up. It made me scared that my dad was going to die, too.” He knocked the grade book aside, annoyed, and kept searching. “So I started trying my hardest to take care of him and make sure I was doing everything right to keep him around. I didn’t tell him that sometimes I got so scared I thought I couldn’t breathe. He was…sad,” he said delicately. 

Isaac’s breath hitched. 

Stiles dropped to his knees to search the bottom drawer. “He started drinking a lot, and working a lot more. He barely noticed whether I was there or not,” he mused, then winced. “So I made sure to get great grades, up until high school. It was a little harder, and there were more people in each class, which made it harder to concentrate.” He slammed the drawer, mouthed some curses, and opened the one on the other side. “I failed a literature test and had a panic attack in class, before I could go hide like I usually did.” He looked around. There was a plastic supply cabinet he hadn’t checked. “Anyway, the school called my dad, social services got involved, and I met Miss Sanchez.” He smiled automatically at the memory, even though he was practically trembling. He yanked the cabinet open. “That’s why I became a social worker,” he said slowly, as he searched the shelves. “Things started getting better with her help, and I wanted to help kids like me, too.” He searched them twice, furious but unsurprised to find nothing helpful.

“I’m—glad you did,” Isaac said. He sniffled. “My d-dad used to lock m-me in the freezer in our basement when he w-w-was mad at me.” His voice went even more muffled at the end, like he was trying to hide the words. 

Stiles clenched his fists at his sides.

“I don’t like it in here.”

“I’m trying, I’m sorry.” He kicked the supply closet, frustrated.

Something rocked on top of it. He reached up and his fingers brushed…something. He grabbed it.

A flathead screwdriver, covered in dust, most likely forgotten from some old project or another. 

He ran to the closet and bent, examining the hinges. He jammed the edge of the screwdriver under the pin and got to work.

It felt like forever, but it couldn’t have been more than five minutes before he was yanking the top pin out and the door was toppling over. Stiles leaped aside, letting it clatter to the floor.

Isaac spilled out of the closet and into Stiles’s arms. He clutched at him and sobbed unreservedly into his chest.

Stiles wrapped himself around him. He was still freaking out and they were still on a time crunch, they had to call the police and warn the Hales, but Isaac was a child. He was terrified, reaching out, and Stiles couldn’t turn him away. He held on until Isaac stopped shuddering. “I’m sorry, I know, but we have to go. We have to warn them.” 

Isaac nodded, knuckling his tears away. “They took my phone.” His lip trembled. “Derek’s gonna be mad I lost it, he bought it for me.”

Stiles shook his head. “He won’t be mad. He’s just gonna be happy you’re okay.” He picked up the screwdriver. 

The door opened from the outside.

Stiles swung around, moving to block Isaac. He lifted the screwdriver. 

A girl about Isaac’s age came in, frowning. “Isaac?”

“Allison!” he cried, trying to bolt around Stiles. “What-”

A couple walked in.

Stiles put his arm out, stopping Isaac. “How’d you know we were here? Who are you?”

“I was worried when Isaac said a teacher told him to stay behind. He didn’t know her name,” Allison said slowly, “but it sounded like my aunt he described.” She looked up at the couple, who were obviously her parents.

The man looked at Stiles. “I need to speak to you,” he said evenly. “I’m Chris Argent, Allison’s father, and this is-”

“ _Argent?_ ” Stiles caught Isaac’s arm and pulled him back behind him. He gripped the screwdriver and braced himself to fight. 

“Yes…?” Chris looked confused. 

“Kate Argent locked us in here!” Stiles spat. 

Chris shook his head. “I don’t know why Kate would-”

“Because she and Gerard want to go kill the Hales! Gerard Argent killed the Samuels’ family, but two of them got away,” Stiles snapped. 

Chris went white. “You’ve—you’ve seen my father?” he asked stiffly. 

The woman nodded. “Right. Gerard is in town, this is now an emergency situation. Everyone get to the car. Allison, call 911, Chris, call your sister.” She looked at Stiles sharply. “Gerard and Kate aren’t known for biding their time. We need to go _now_ if you want to save anyone.”

Stiles looked at Isaac.

“I can’t get my phone to work,” Allison said anxiously. 

Isaac held up a very beat up flip phone. “This one worked a little bit.”

Stiles glanced at it and away swiftly. It wouldn’t be the first time an abuse victim had hidden away an emergency phone. “Doesn’t matter. We should have service on the road.” He hoped he wasn’t making a terrible decision to trust these people. “Let’s go.”


	41. Chapter 41

There was blood in Derek’s eyes. The hunters fought dirty, which he should have been ready for. The older one didn’t seem to want to shoot, probably so he wouldn’t accidentally hit his daughter.

She elbowed Derek in the face and ducked away. She yanked out a knife and licked her lips.

“What’s your plan here?” Derek asked. He shook the blood out of his eyes. “All I have to do is put up enough of a fight to keep you here until the cops show. You’re going down for this whether you succeed in murdering us or not.” God. Please, please let his family get out. His wounds stung from wolfsbane, but—he dodged around the woman and bolted for the house.

The woman tackled him. She rolled them over, legs tangled around his, and straddled his chest. She held a knife to his throat. 

“Don’t worry about us, mongrel,” the old man said. “We’ve made sure your family aren’t getting out of that house.”

Terror shot through Derek, his body going limp with fear.

The woman grinned down at him. “Roger Lahey will take the fall for this and we’ll be out of town before he can point any fingers.” She raised the knife and nicked his cheek, watching the blood bead and fall. “You’re kinda hot. Could spare you, maybe.” She licked her lips. “Have some fun. I’d make it worth it.”

Derek surged up. His cheek burned as the knife laid it open. He threw her off him and roared. He ran at the man. He heard sirens, but he didn’t stop. He ran in zigzags so the man couldn’t get a clear shot. They collided.

The gun flew out of the man’s hands. Derek snapped his teeth at his throat. 

“Stop!” Someone ran past Derek, shocking him, and into the woman’s path. “What the hell are you doing, Kate?” 

“ _Hunting,_ Chris,” she snapped. “What’re _you_ doing?”

“Uh-uh,” another woman said. She stepped up behind the older man and nudged his shoulder with her own gun. “Drop it, Gerard.”

He glowered and dropped the knife he’d been pulling out.

Derek stepped back. He wiped blood off his face.

“Fire department’s already at your house,” the new man, _Chris,_ told him. “Police are here, too.”

“There is a _code_ ,” the woman with red hair snarled. 

“The code is outdated. They’re monsters.” Kate tried to run at Derek, but Chris body checked her.

Derek decided he didn’t care about any of them and ran for the house. The smoke was thick and heavy, he could barely see and certainly couldn’t smell if anyone was—if anyone had been hurt. 

Stiles was there.

Derek froze in shock.

Stiles was dragging Scott out of the house, shaking his head at the firefighter who was shouting at him.

Boyd grabbed both Scott and Stiles by the backs of their necks and dragged them off the porch. He started yelling when they were safely in the driveway. 

Derek ran.

“—fucking _moron_ , you’re _human_ , do you know what smoke can do to you?! You could have _died_!” Boyd was shouting. “Your lungs aren’t like ours, you could-” He was cut off when Derek grabbed him.

Derek got his other arm around Scott’s neck and dragged them both into a hug. Relieved tears tracked down his face, but he didn’t even care. He pressed his face into Boyd’s shoulder. 

They hugged him back. “We thought-” Scott started.

Derek squeezed tighter. “I’m sorry I left, god, I thought I got everyone killed again.” All around them, firefighters were yelling and running back and forth. He pressed his face against Scott’s neck. “I’m never leaving you guys again. I’m never leaving _Beacon Hills_ again.” He’d been thinking that anyway, been thinking that there were things here that he didn’t want to leave. This was the last straw. He didn’t want to leave his pack again.

Scott and Boyd eased back. They shared a look. “That’ll be hard to do when you’re in Tainan racing airplanes,” Scott said lightly. 

“Are you kidding?” He shook his head. “I’m retiring immediately, you all have aged me about fifty fucking years.” He didn’t want to leave Isaac when they were making progress, or Stiles, and giving up racing seemed like a small price to pay for that. He swallowed. “I—I’m sorry. I can’t believe.” He squeezed his hands into fists. “I can’t believe I almost got everyone killed again.” 

A hand smacked the back of his head.

He turned indignantly, only to get crushed into a hug from Laura.

“You didn’t get _anyone_ killed either time. You jerk.” She sniffled.

“Where’s Erica and Lana?” he asked, horrified. His gaze shot back toward the house.

“They’re already out.” Laura pointed.

Boyd was already marching toward the ambulance where Erica and Lana were huddled together under a blanket.

A paramedic was asking them questions and making sure Lana was breathing okay.

“Boyd grabbed them both,” Laura said, smiling. “He dumped them out a window.” Her face fell. “There was mountain ash around the house, so we couldn’t get out, but at least Erica and the baby were out.” She wiped her cheeks. “Erica wouldn’t leave. She got Lana away from the smoke and called the fire department and police.” 

“How’d you get out?”

She smiled again. “Stiles.” She rolled her eyes. “Moron ran in and broke the line without even realizing it.” She gestured at Scott.

Derek looked, feeling guilty that he hadn’t even looked at Stiles. He’d thought his family was gone, he hadn’t been thinking straight. 

Boyd made it to Erica. He waited until the paramedic stepped away. “I love you,” he announced.

Derek gaped.

“And Lana,” Boyd continued. “I love you both. I’ve been in love with you since I was sixteen.”

Erica stood, Lana clamped firmly in her arms. “It _took_ you long enough!” She kissed him, hard and thorough.

Lana pressed kisses to his cheek.

He pulled away, laughing, and impulsively kissed her cheek, too.

She threw her arms around his neck.

“It really did take him forever,” Laura muttered.

“She’s been crushing on him since high school,” Derek said dazedly. “I just didn’t realize it was mutual back then!” He heard a shout and looked up.

Stiles and Isaac were by a car he didn’t recognize; Stiles had obviously gone back for Isaac after Derek had grabbed Boyd and Scott. Isaac bolted away from Stiles. 

Derek met him halfway, but he was still surprised when Isaac wrapped his arms around his middle. “I’m happy to see you, too,” he said cautiously.

Isaac shuddered. “They took my phone, I’m sorry.” He buried his face against Derek’s ribs and stayed there.

Stiles approached more slowly. “Are you okay?” His face was tense and sooty, pale, streaked from tears. He reeked of terror. “I couldn’t—you weren’t—I had to get your family, you weren’t there, but-”

Derek pulled him in, too. “Thank you. For saving them, thank you.” He kissed the side of his head and smelled blood. “What happened?”

Stiles swallowed noisily and stepped back. “Got a call from Isaac from an unknown number, he said he needed help. Went to the school and got locked in the art room by Kate and Lahey.” He shuddered. “I thought we’d be too late.” 

Isaac tilted his head back. “Stiles was so awesome. He broke the closet open, and he was going to fight Mr. Argent with a _screwdriver._ ”

Stiles laughed wetly. “Yep, I’m a badass.”

Sheriff Stilinski arrived with three deputies in tow. He ran up to Stiles and hugged him. “Jesus, why-” He shook his head. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yes,” Derek replied. “Everyone made it out because of Stiles.”

He ducked his head. “They’re werewolves,” he muttered. “I’m sure they’d have made it out.”

“No.” Derek shook his head. “The hunters, they…” His gaze dropped to Isaac. “I’ll explain later.”

Stiles frowned, but clearly knew better than to press.

Sheriff Stilinski looked like he didn’t know whether to knock Stiles upside the head or hug him again. He settled for ruffling his hair and sighing. “Parrish, Haines, and Vanderpool are arresting Lahey and the others right now.” 

“Good!” Stiles shuddered. 

Derek turned, seeking Laura, and found her speaking to a firefighter. 

“They’ve already got the fire out,” Stiles said when he noticed Derek looking around. “They said it started in the attic. There’s probably—I don’t know. I can’t-”

Sheriff Stilinski squeezed Stiles’s shoulder. “I have a guest room, and two pull out couches—one in my office, and one in the living room. I think you all should head there. I’ll get some food, Stiles can dig out the linens. You’re all staying with me tonight.”

Isaac finally loosened his grip, but only enough to look at the two Stilinski men. He left one arm around Derek, like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Derek wasn’t, either.

While Sheriff Stilinski got to work gathering up the criminals, Laura gathered up her pack. They weren’t allowed back in the house until it’d been inspected, which meant they couldn’t go get any of their belongings. A kind firefighter gathered up wallets and car keys for everyone, even enduring a brief snarl from his superior for it.

“I’ve got to process these three, but Stiles can let you guys in,” Sheriff Stilinski told them as they were loading into Boyd’s car. “Make yourselves comfortable.” He kissed Stiles’s forehead, ruffled Isaac’s hair, and squeezed Derek’s shoulder as he was going. 

Everyone split up at the Stilinski house. Derek and Stiles ended up in the guest room, which used to be Stiles’s childhood bedroom.

Derek pulled him close and just stood, nose pressed against his neck. It didn’t clear the smoke smell, but it helped in managing Derek’s emotions. 

They both changed into t-shirts borrowed from Sheriff Stilinski’s closet before climbing into bed. 

“I love you,” Stiles whispered, pressing their foreheads together. “I love you. I’m so glad you and your family are okay.”

Derek brushed their noses together. “I love you, too.” He kissed him, then leaned back and rubbed his thumb over Stiles’s bottom lip. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He rested his forehead against his again. “Thank you,” he breathed. “Thank you for saving them.” He closed his eyes.

“I love them, too, you know. You’re all too likeable for your own good. I hate that. But I love you all.” 

Derek smiled. “I know.” He opened his eyes and sat up a little. “I wanted to tell you.” He looked at Stiles’s face, taking in the tired lines around his eyes, the smudge of soot he’d missed on his cheekbone, the cut on his chin. He kissed his cheek. “I’m staying in Beacon Hills. I mean, I don’t…I don’t expect anything, obviously, but…I love you, and I want to stay near Isaac, and the others, obviously.”

Stiles smiled. “Good. I’m glad.” He opened his eyes, too. “I mean, only if that’s what you want to do. If it’s going to make you miserable, then I would never want you to quit.” 

Derek smiled back and leaned in, kissing him deeply. He cupped his cheek and deepened the kiss until Stiles let out a shaky moan. “I’m not going to be miserable. I’ll be happier here, with my pack.”

“Good.” Stiles kissed him again, then leaned back. He stretched and closed his eyes. 

Derek started to lay back down, then hesitated. He tilted his head and listened to Isaac trot down the hall.

Boyd, Scott, and Laura had curled up together on the living room pull out. Isaac had been given the office pull out if he wanted it, which he’d claimed he did. He opened the guest room door a crack. “Derek?” he whispered. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I sleep in here?”

Stiles looked at the door, then Derek. He nodded. 

“Sure. Come on.” Derek moved closer to Stiles, leaving room.

Isaac climbed under the blanket, then curled into a tight ball. “Goodnight.”

“Night.” Derek stayed awake, long enough for Isaac to pass out, and Stiles to slip into uneasy sleep, long enough for Boyd to answer a call and agree to go sit with Erica, who couldn’t sleep. He heard Boyd wake Laura to tell her where he was going, then slip out. Derek turned his face into Stiles’s chest and shut his eyes.


	42. Chapter 42

**3 Months Later**  
Derek checked his bag while Laura was running around the room, frantically searching for her left shoe.

“Hurry up!” she ordered. “We’re going to be late! Oh my god, _where is it?_ ” she seethed. 

Scott and Isaac giggled in the adjoining room.

“ _Boys!_ ” she yelled, temporarily forgetting Scott was not a mischievous teenager, as much as he acted like one. “Give me my shoe!” She ran to their room.

“Did you pack everything you need?” Boyd asked. 

“Yep.” Derek patted his gear.

“ _Everything?_ ” Boyd pressed, brows lifting.

Derek’s heart skipped. “Yes,” he repeated. He unzipped a side pocket of his bag and tipped it.

Boyd nodded in approval. “Good.” He motioned at Derek to zip it back, so he did.

“Everyone ready?” Stiles asked, sauntering into the room. He paused to observe Scott running by, chased by Laura, with indifference. “Usual levels of nonsense, then. I’ve got the car ready, if you guys would like to get there before the race starts.”

Derek put his bag over his shoulder and went to Stiles. He kissed him. “I’d still win.”

“Arrogance invites ruin,” Stiles teased. “Will your plane hold you and your ego?”

“Yep.” He kissed him again, parting with a sharp nip to his mouth. “Let’s go!” he called. 

Laura returned with both shoes.

Scott’s shirt was ripped, so he had to change it before they went. He’d moved back to Beacon Hills while the house was being repaired (a feat greatly sped up by werewolf strength and stamina). He’d gotten a job with the local vet, Dr. Allen Deaton…

…Who, it turned out, knew exactly who and what they were. He was now a subscriber to the Midnight Gazette, which was gaining traction in the supernatural community, and a source Laura had tapped more than once. 

Derek was pretty sure Deaton was afraid of her. 

When they made it to the race, everyone wished Derek good luck before going off to find their seats.

Stiles reeled him in for a kiss. “Be careful,” he mumbled, looking embarrassed.

Derek smirked. “I’ll be quick.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. 

Derek’s crew waved him over. “You sure you want this to be your last race, Hale?” Steve Myer asked. 

“Yeah,” Derek said. “It’s time.”

“But _Reno?_ ” He grimaced. “Man, you won the Skywolf Races last year. Reno is small time.”

“Yeah, I know. But I wanted to have a proper last race, you know? And this one was close to home.”

“We would’ve met you in Tainan, they host more than just the Skywolf Races.”

Derek grinned at him. “Thanks, but.” He jerked his thumb toward the spectators. “This is one my little brother can come to watch.” 

Steve nodded, looking resigned. “Got it. Well, since you’re officially retiring, some people showed up.” He pointed.

Pierce ran over. He was wearing green star shaped sunglasses, a red jacket over a turquoise shirt, and zebra print pants. “Fuckin’ Hawk Hale!” he howled, and nearly tackled Derek. “When my agent called and said Hawk Hale was doing the Reno race, I was like No. Fuckin’. Way. But here you are. _Antonia!_ ” he shouted. “He showed up!” He blew a kiss at Derek. “See you in the sky, Hawk.” He went running.

Antonia Walton lifted a hand to Derek. “Had to race you one last time!” she called out.

“Glad you liked second place so much!” he returned.

She flipped him off.

Derek was grinning as the judges called for the racers to gear up. 

Being in the air again after so long was exhilarating. He’d missed it, but it no longer felt like he was being smothered without it. Joy bounded through him as they blasted through the starting pylons. 

Antonia shot to first place.

Derek waited, tailing her as they lost the crowd—the amateurs and first-timers, the people who hesitated or played it safe. 

Pierce was on Derek’s ass, but he knew better than to get too close—he wasn’t exaggerating about Derek’s fearlessness. 

In the air, he felt like nothing could touch him. He was too fast. 

He pulled ahead of Antonia and checked that he had room. He did an aileron roll, laughing when he heard Steve cursing in his headset. 

“Hale! Quit fucking around, you’re gonna lose the fucking _Reno_ race, that’s a terrible way to go out!” 

Derek laughed. He was going to _miss_ this.

He won by a hair; Antonia was on him, and he _was_ fucking around, a little bit, but he managed. 

Steve and the crew helped him land and get out of the plane. 

“I swear, you’re worse than Pierce. He’s insane,” Steve ranted, “but he doesn’t have a goddamn death wish!”

Derek laughed and jumped down. He yanked his headset off and pulled his hand through his hair. Sweat made it stand up, but he didn’t care. “I don’t have a death wish,” he told Steve. “I just figured I might as well give everyone something to watch.”

Steve shook his head fondly. “Get out of here.”

Derek found Ms. Wade waiting by a small crowd of reporters—Reno was a small race compared to the others—who were waiting to interview the racers. 

Wade gave him an arch look. “You sure?”

“Yep.”

She waved the reporters over. “Alright.”

“Are you retiring after this race, Derek?”

“Yes,” he replied. He answered questions for ten minutes, then let Ms. Wade shuffle him away.

“It’s been fun, Hale,” she said, grinning. “Paperwork’s all finished.”

“Thank you.”

She shook his hand—she was very adverse to touching people, so he was flattered—and left him to speak to the judges. “I’ll let you know once your winnings have cleared,” she called over her shoulder. 

Derek ran to the bollards.

Scott, Boyd, and Laura were all in seats, waving but not approaching. Boyd gave him a thumbs up.

Stiles was practically leaning over the bollard keeping him from the racers’ area. “You did that just to scare me!” He got his hands in the front of Derek’s jump suit and yanked him in. His kiss was desperate and rough. 

Derek cupped the back of his head and sighed against his mouth. He leaned away just a little, just enough to pull a small box from his inside pocket. He moved his mouth so it was against Stiles’s ear. “Stiles.”

He shuddered. “Yeah?”

Derek nuzzled his cheek. “I love you very much.”

“I love you, too.” He tried to pull back, but Derek stopped him gently.

“Just a sec.” He used his thumb to flip the box open. “Will you marry me?”

Stiles rocked back, eyes huge in his face. His cheeks flushed. His grin was blinding. “ _Yes!_ ”

Derek grabbed him and kissed him. “Wait,” he laughed. “Wait, let me give you the ring.”

“No.” Stiles kissed him again, digging his hand into Derek’s hair.

Something pinched Derek’s arm. He jerked back.

Isaac grinned up at them. “Do I have to call him _Mieczysław_ now?”

Stiles shoved Derek away. “You _told him_?!” 

Derek vaulted the bollard, caught Isaac’s hand, and started running. 

Stiles shouted after him. 

“See if you can keep up, Stilinski!” And, werewolf or not, Derek was pretty sure he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, that's the end! I hope you enjoyed it!! <3 I certainly had fun writing and posting it. 
> 
> I'm going to take a week or so off posting, even though the next one is done, because I need to read over it for some stuff and hope that it is readable! :D


End file.
